


The Summer of '77

by bwayfan25



Category: ER (TV 1994)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Canon Disabled Character, Character Analysis, Character Study, Coming of Age, Family, High School, In which Kerry has a very hard summer vacation, Mental Health Issues, Prequel, References to Canon, Teenage Drama, and a hard time in general TBH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-12 00:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwayfan25/pseuds/bwayfan25
Summary: If the numerous singers on the radio were to be believed, the Summer of '69 was the summer to remember. And though she herself couldn't remember much about it, Kerry was inclined to agree with them, if only because the summer she could most vivedly recall from her youth was one she wished she could forget.





	1. Kerry

Hall & Oates

“Kerry”

_Bigger Than Both of Us _(1976)

RCA Records

* * *

Ms. Oliver wrote the words _ Wednesday April 20th _ in big letters on the chalkboard (as she knew better than to write _ 4/20 _ in front of twenty-five teenagers) and underlined it twice. 

“_ So _ , as I was saying,” she said, turning back to face the class. “You’ve got four whole days until it’s due, which should be _ plenty _of time.”

“But it’s not four days,” Richard Palmer said from where he sat reclining in his chair towards the front of the class. “It’s only two.”

Ms. Oliver considered this for a moment and then shrugged.

“Alright,” she conceded. “Since you’ll be in school on Monday and Tuesday, _ yes _ , it’s technically only _ two _whole days. But that still should be more than enough time.”

Richard looked taken aback. 

“No, I meant Monday and Tuesday _ make _ it two days,” he explained. “Who counts the weekend? Nobody does homework on the weekend.”

“Well, that certainly explains your grade in my class, now doesn’t it?”

Ms. Oliver smirked as the class laughed at Richard’s expense. But after a moment passed and color began to rise in his cheeks, she motioned for them to quiet down.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she assured them. “Rich, you’re doing fine.

There was another chuckle from the class, one which Richard joined in on. 

“Anyways,” Ms. Oliver continued, “the other thing I wanted to say before the bell rings is to please, for the love of God, do the assigned readings this weekend? We’re going over chapters four through eight on Monday, and I’ve decided that for every minute we sit in silence because no one has anything to say is a lap I’ll make you do with the track team after school. Yes, Tina?”

Tina McGrady, a tall, athletic girl who sat in the last seat on the end of the second row near the door, lowered her hand. 

“If we’re already running laps with the track team after school, does that mean we have to run _ more _ laps, or just that they’ll do it with us?”

Ms. Oliver shrugged. 

“I guess you should just hope that your classmates do the reading so you’ll never have to find out.”

Before the class had the chance to snicker at this, the bell rang loudly and anything the students might have said was drowned out by the sound of chairs and shuffling as the class rose to leave for fifth period. 

The classroom emptied quickly, the students eager to get to their next classes or to the cafeteria for lunch. Soon, the last stragglers trailed out leaving only Ms. Oliver and Kerry Weaver. 

Kerry was seated in the middle row in the seat closest to the window. She was, by nature, a center-seat-in-the-front-row kind of student, but years in the public school system had taught her that, while that nature was good for scoring well on tests and getting straight A’s on report cards, in the classroom, it made you a target. 

And the last thing she wanted was to be a target. 

It was the last thing she wanted to be both because she was a high schooler and no one in their right mind _ wanted _to be a target in high school (save, perhaps, for athletes playing certain positions) but also because she already was one. 

Though she had used a crutch (or sometimes crutch_ es _) as long as she could walk, it was never anything she nor anyone else paid much attention to. She had spent her formative years living in various countries in Africa with her parents and was more out of place as a white person than she was as a disabled one.

But, when the Weavers moved back to Minnesota and Kerry started school in America, she quickly learned that not only did her crutch make her out of place, but other students had absolutely no problem reminding her of that.

Kerry slipped her bag over her shoulder and started for the door. 

“Kerry?”

She paused in front of Ms. Oliver’s desk. 

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say, since you’re probably going to hand me your essay on Monday,” Ms. Oliver began, peering at Kerry over the rim of her thick-rimmed glasses, “to remember what I said earlier this year. About make-”

“Making my point in five pages or choosing a different point to make,” Kerry finished. “Yeah, I remember.”

Ms. Oliver inclined her head in acknowledgement and raised her hands defensively. 

“Not to say I wouldn’t love to read _ all _ your thoughts on _ Jane Eyre _ \- and considerably more so than I would most of your classmates - but I’m going to have to grade a hundred of these, so please take it easy on me.”

Kerry chuckled slightly and nodded. Ms. Oliver replied with a smile and a wink. 

She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs the way male teachers did, with her right ankle resting on her left knee. But, seeing as she was the only female teacher in the school never known to wear skirts, she was not at risk for any indecent exposure. 

In fact, the skirts in her closet didn’t even belong to her. They belonged instead to her “roommate” Alice.

“Trust me,” Ms. Oliver said with a sigh, “in the future when you’re grading other people’s work, you’re going to understand.”

“I’m not going to be grading anyone’s work,” Kerry said quickly. “I… I don’t intend on being a teacher.”

“No, but you might be a manager,” Ms. Oliver offered, shrugging. “And when there’s a hundred things in front of you to review, you’re going to want it to be right and you’re going to want it to be brief. Trust me.”

At Kerry’s frown, Ms. Oliver just chuckled. 

“Food for thought,” Ms. Oliver said with another shrug. “Have a good weekend.”

“You too.”

Kerry smiled slightly and continued on out the door and down the hall towards the cafeteria. 

If Kerry’s schedule was heartbeats on a monitor, the three peaks would be first period AP Chemistry, fourth period Honors English 10, and seventh period Symphonic Band. But after each spike on a heartbeat is a plummet. In terms of her schedule, this would mean second period Home Economics and eighth period AP US History. And, the worst plummet of them all, fifth period Lunch. 

She was relieved as she entered the cafeteria to find an empty table in the back of the cafeteria.

With any luck, she could eat her sandwich and escape to the library before anyone noticed her presence. There, she could start her _ Jane Eyre _ essay in peace and without any concern over someone spilling their lunch on her notebook. 

She had just managed to pull her sack lunch from her bag when she felt a presence standing over her. And when she looked up, the person she ended up raising an eyebrow at was none other than Patricia Lawson. 

Patricia, or Trish as most people called her, was a bitch (though when they were in school together, Kerry did not have permission to use this as an adjective nor expletive). She was as smart, if not possibly _ smarter _ than Kerry, which would have made her Kerry’s worst nightmare on its own even _ without _ Trish’s snide comments and the prowess with which she wielded her power.

It definitely didn’t help that Trish was also quite possibly the most beautiful young woman in the sophomore class. Her long blonde hair always looked too soft to even be possible and when the weather was nice enough for her to wear skirts and dresses, they always fell right in the middle of her thighs and showed off her long legs. 

Kerry didn’t know why this bothered her until many, _ many _ years later. 

“What?”

Trish said nothing, but just tilted her head slightly and raised her eyebrows. Her pointed eye contact moved from Kerry to the empty table and then back. 

“No.”

Trish rolled her eyes and let out a sigh.

“Come on,” Trish said. “This is the only table with enough seats for all of us to sit together and you’re sitting in the middle of it.”

To her credit, Trish was right. 

She and the crowd of young women with her outnumbered the open seats at every other table but the one Kerry was currently sitting at. Kerry, who had taken the middle seat on one side of the table, prevented all of them from sitting together. 

“I don’t care,” Kerry replied, turning her attention back to her lunch. “I’m not moving.”

“Just move to the seat over there,” Trish instructed, motioning to the one free seat at the other half of the long table.

“I’m not going to,” Kerry repeated. “I was here first.”

“God, you sound like a baby,” Trish said, rolling her eyes again. “You’d literally just have to move two seats over. Even _ you _could do it.”

The emphasis on the word “you” both raised a flush in Kerry’s cheeks and also steeled her nerve.

“I’m not going to move,” Kerry replied slowly, enunciating each word, even through clenched. “I was sitting here first and I don’t have to move just because you want to sit with your friends.”

“Is there a problem here, ladies?”

Both Kerry and Trish looked up to see Mr. Donnell, the Algebra teacher/ lunch room monitor, standing over them. 

“My friends and I want to sit together and this is the only place where there are enough seats,” Trish informed him in a very woe-is-me tone. “And I asked Kerry if she would move down a few seats so all of us could sit together, but she won’t.”

“I was already sitting here,” she hissed. “I’m not going to move just because they want me to.”

“Come on, ladies. We can compromise here,” Mr. Donnell reassured them. He turned to Kerry. “Why don’t you move to that open seat so these ladies can sit together?”

“I shouldn’t have to,” Kerry said firmly, though her resolve was weakening. “They can find somewhere else to sit. I was here first.”

Mr. Donnell exhaled deeply and leaned forward towards Kerry, dropping his voice so only she could hear him. 

“I really don’t think this is important enough to make a scene over.”

“_ I’m not making a scene _,” Kerry snapped loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, which inevitably made them turn and try to find where the scene was. 

With the number of eyes watching Kerry steadily growing, Trish knew she had won. 

And, sure enough, it was only a matter of moments before Kerry snatched up her lunch, picked her crutch up, and stormed away to the next table. 

“You don’t have to…” Trish let out an over exaggerated sigh. She looked at Mr. Donnell and shrugged. “Oh well.”

Then, without further ado, she and the rest of the girls with her took their seats at the lunch table. 

Kerry dropped into a seat in front of a skinny boy at the next table. When she slammed her lunch down on the table, it nearly upset the boy’s Thermos onto his open copy of _ One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest _. 

He looked up from his food to examine Kerry with a look of frustration and concern. 

“You can’t just sit down like that without any warning. Kerry, there’s not enough room-”

“Then _ make _ room,” Kerry hissed, glaring at him. 

The boy scowled, but that didn’t stop him from scooting his food out of the way to make room for her. 

“There. Now, there’s room,” he mumbled. He looked up at her again, still frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” Kerry said in a voice almost like a growl.

“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem very okay-”

“I’m fine, Michael. Now, shut up.” Sensing his continued concern, she flashed her eyes at him. “And don’t look at me.”

Michael rolled his eyes and swept his glasses off his nose. He slammed them (carefully) down onto the table.

“There. See? Not looking at you. Can’t look at anything,” he stated. But after a moment’s pause, he put them back on and looked down at his book, mumbling, “actually, I need them so I can read my book.”

Kerry didn’t say anything further, nor did she resume eating her lunch. 

Instead, she just stared at the turkey and cheese sandwich in front of her and imagined all the ways she could get back at Trish for this. However, given that most of her options involved some kind of violence that were not recommended given Trish’s background in both cheerleading and martial arts, the attempts at plans kept falling short. 

God, how much she wished for power of her own. Some instance where _ she _ could be in charge and people would have to listen to _ her _ . Where _ she _ could make the rules and everyone else had to just deal with it. 

The world would be a better place if she was in charge. Or at least, Kerry thought, she wouldn’t feel as miserable as she felt right now. 

Though her anger, embarrassment, and daydreams about physically assaulting the Sophomore Class President distracted her from eating, eventually her stomach growled and she gave in. 

In pulling her apple and bag of carrot sticks out of the lunch bag, she found a cookie wrapped in plastic that she certainly hadn’t put there when packing her lunch the night before. When she unwrapped it, out fell a little note written in her mother’s handwriting.

_ Happy birthday to the best gift we’ve ever been given. _

Underneath it was a little cartoon of a man making a silly face and sticking his tongue out which Kerry recognized as a favorite doodle of her dad’s. 

She’d almost forgotten it was her birthday.

Homework, essays, and losing spots at lunch always seemed to overshadow important things like birthdays, and unfortunately for Kerry, she missed out on the years in elementary school when it was socially acceptable, nay, _ encouraged _ to celebrate your birthday with the rest of the class through cupcakes or other treats. 

But, nonetheless, it _ was _April 15th, otherwise known as sixteen years to the day that Kerry had been born and then subsequently was given up for adoption. And by whom, she didn’t know. 

And perhaps that was why celebrating her birthday always made her just the _ least _bit uncomfortable.

Sure, it was the day of her birth and therefore was inherently a cause for celebration. But the knowledge that it was also the day that some woman, perhaps even some _ family _, somewhere had decided to give her up rather than raise her themselves always seemed to mar the celebration. 

And because the reason for their relinquishing her to the state and then to the Weavers a week later was never explicitly stated, it raised a lot of questions. Questions that had only grown stronger and more pressing when her family moved back to the US and she learned how her classmates (and eventually other people out in the world too) saw and treated her. Questions that fed into each other and, as they went unanswered, had started to fill in the answers themselves, building the narrative lens through which she viewed the world and herself. Questions that were too painful to ask aloud, but that ultimately dictated her every goal, motivation, and heartache.

What if her birth parents gave her up because she was disabled? Because she wasn’t quite perfect? Because this one thing about her, which simultaneously had a lot and also no effect on her day-to-day life, made her not good enough? 

And, most importantly, if she was given up because she wasn’t good enough, would anything she did ever _ be _good enough?

The bell rang loudly, signaling the end of fifth period. 

Kerry was still staring at the note when the students around her started to rise from their seats and gather their things. 

She too started putting her uneaten lunch back in its bag, albeit with a slight delay due to the distraction of the note. But as she went to wrap the cookie back in its plastic, a passing student’s backpack slammed into her shoulder, causing her to drop it. 

It hit the floor and cracked into two almost-perfect halves. 

The boy who bumped into her muttered a quick apology, but was then swept away with the departing crowd. Not that it mattered anyway, seeing as it wouldn’t change the fact that the cookie was already on the floor of the Washburn High School cafeteria and that there was no way in hell she was going to eat it now.

So, Kerry just gathered her things, swept the cookie pieces into the lunch bag, and dropped it into the trash can as she followed the rest of the students out into the hall and onto the next class. 

This was turning out to be another very happy birthday indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope this finds everyone well. 
> 
> As I mentioned while writing "Unexpected Circumstances" that since we knew almost nothing about Kerry's upbringing or background that I filled in a lot of the blanks and could probably write an entire prequel of her life up until she started at County. Now, this is not going to cover _that_ much, but it will hopefully give a lot of insight into her character and her eventual character development.
> 
> I hesitate to call it an AU because honestly, we can't say it _isn't_ what happened, but it definitely is not directly related to canon. That is not to say, however, that canon will not be referenced or connected. All this is to say that it's an original story. 
> 
> There is one thing I want to point out now: Mental health is going to feature prominently in this story. It is my duty as a writer to do right by the characters and the situations portrayed, and I want to just say now that there might be things that could be triggering. I will do my best to put a warning in the notes at the beginning of a chapter if it features something that may bother people. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading! I look forward to seeing where this goes. 
> 
> Until next time. 


	2. Feeling Sad Tonight

Carole King

“Feeling Sad Tonight”

_ Rhymes & Reasons  _ (1972)

Ode/ A&M Records

* * *

The bus groaned to a stop in front of the house next to Kerry’s. 

The Weavers lived on what would be the corner had their street had a ninety-degree angle turn instead of a wide curve. Their post-war prefab ranch sat on the largest lot in the neighborhood, though most of the extra space was awkwardly shaped yard where the lot curved with the road. 

The Levins lived in the house directly across from the Weavers in a ranch set up exactly the same way as the Weavers but flipped. 

The lot in front of which Bus 194 stopped had a lower curb than the rest of the street thanks to poorly planned foundation, so Michael disembarked first and then turned and raised a hand to Kerry, who followed behind him. She took it begrudgingly and carefully lowered herself /jumped down to/fell onto the sidewalk. 

But as soon as she had firm footing on the ground, she let go and turned to storm away to her own house. Michael had half a mind to follow after her and make her tell him what was wrong, but he had tried that before, and the most it ever got him was a sneer.

Kerry walked down the sidewalk and up the far side their short driveway to the door to the garage. It was unlocked, as it was 1977 and suburban families had yet to take to locking their doors. 

“Ah! You’re just in time, dear,” Henry Weaver greeted as Kerry stepped into the garage, otherwise known as Henry’s workshop. “I’ve decided to rebrand the passenger train line. Which color do you think would look better?” 

He held up a Lionel model locomotive in one hand and two bottles of paint in the other: a deep navy and something between turquoise and teal. 

She found it unusual for Henry to be actually doing something with the  _ trains  _ of his extensive model train set, as that was not the point of the set-up. 

When the Weavers moved back to Minneapolis a few years prior, Henry hadn’t settled into retirement very well. He was a doer and always had been, so it didn’t take long for sitting around with nothing to do to get to him. He took up model trains not necessarily because he enjoyed tinkering with the trains (though he did), but because it gave him a creative outlet as well as a continued use for his dual Master’s degrees in City Planning and Civil Engineering.

“Teal,” Kerry answered after a moment’s consideration. “The navy is too dark.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Henry said, smiling. He set the paint and train down on his workbench. “How was school, my dear?”

Kerry didn’t answer, but rather just stared at the corner of the train table that had recently been cleared off for some new project Henry had decided to undertake. 

“So good you’re speechless? Well, they must certainly be teaching you something good then, aren’t they?” he asked, his brow rising. But when he looked to her for some acknowledgement and found her still staring absently at the table, his smile faltered. “That bad, huh? Do you want to talk about it?”

Kerry shook her head. Henry’s brow furrowed. 

He knew quite well that his daughter was not very forthcoming with her emotions (unless it was anger or frustration, in which case, she was  _ often  _ warned by both of her parents about crossing lines), but he typically got at least one-word answers out of her, even when she was feeling bad.

His attention too turned to the train table, but instead of looking at the blank space at which she stared, he scanned the table for the mini-replica of their house. From the tiny version of their porch, he plucked one of the figurines and placed it on the palm of his hand. 

“I’m sorry you had a tough day, my dear,” he said in a quiet, consoling voice. He held out the figurine to her. “Perhaps you could pick somewhere else to put her. Take your mind off things. Daydream a little.”

Kerry took the figurine from him. She recognized it, not just because she’d seen it before, but because it was a one-inch-tall version of her. 

The figurines came unpainted, and Henry carefully painted each one, adding little elements that were unique to each person in lieu of a face (as the scale didn’t allow that). Kerry’s had two added features: a little stack of books and a teensy tiny little crutch that Kerry was convinced Henry had made out of one of her mother’s sewing pins.

Though he had made figurine versions of many of his friends and family members, and had even dedicated some of the buildings to them, like the Mildred J. Weaver School or the Robert R. Rodriguez Shipyard named for one of his Navy buddies, this tiny little redheaded figurine was the one he was most proud of. (He was rather proud of its inspiration too.)

Kerry looked over the table and the options of places to put her one-inch-tall facsimile. 

There was the beach, complete with cotton fluff seafoam, or the city filled with replica skyscrapers of some of her father’s favorite buildings, or the half-finished mountain lodge that was just a  _ little _ bit too close to the train tunnel that ran next to it.

She scanned around, thinking hard, until she chose the right spot. 

“The train depot? Interesting. I would have thought you’d pick the library,” Henry stated, his tone edged with curiosity. “Any specific train you’re interested in taking? Perhaps… a midnight train to Georgia?”

Henry smiled at his own joke, and Kerry couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. 

“I will say though,” he remarked, “that a midnight train to Georgia is a very strange thing to advertise. For one, midnight is not exactly a preferable time to  _ board _ a train. And for two, where exactly in Georgia are we going? Do we just cross the border from Alabama and then, boom, it’s over? Because that doesn’t sound like a trip  _ I’d _ ever want to go on.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, almost as if he was looking for her answer. When she finally gave a small amused smile, he grinned proudly. 

“That’s better,” he said with a wink. “Now, are you hungry? You’re mother is making dinner. It should be done in a little while, I’d think.”

“We’re not going over to the Levins?” Kerry asked, confused. 

“Not tonight,” Henry replied. “Michael’s sister is in town, so they’ve got a bunch of family over.”

Kerry frowned. 

“Michael doesn’t have a sister.”

“Michael  _ Sr. _ ”

Kerry nodded at the clarification, and then proceeded to roll her neck back and forth a few times to stretch.

“And your mother and I didn’t know if you had any plans for your birthday already,” Henry continued. “For all we knew, you might be going to a raucous party or be planning covert rendezvous with shadowy liaisons.” 

Kerry rolled her eyes again, but this time, it wasn’t accompanied by a small smile.

“I’ve got a perfect idea for you, personally,” Henry said. “I think you should sit in your room and read while listening to that Fleetwood Mac album for the seventeenth time this week.”

“The Eagles.”

Henry paused, his expression changing from playful to confused. 

“The Eagles?” he asked in a voice that sounded as confused as he looked. “I could have sworn you said it was Fleetwood Mac.”

“No,” Kerry said, shaking her head. “I’m going to sit in my room and read and listen to The Eagles  _ instead _ of Fleetwood Mac.”

“ _ Oh _ . You scared me there for a second. I’m just starting to tell them apart” Henry said, chuckling. “Let me guess… You’ve already worn out the record?”

“No,” Kerry replied defensively. But then she looked down at her shoes and muttered, “though it  _ did  _ start skipping yesterday.”

Henry chuckled again. 

“Well, I’m sure someday they’ll make some kind of record that’ll never wear out. Then, you can listen to it as many times as you’d like without having to worry about it skipping.” He chuckled and took a seat back at his workbench. “I’d invent one for you myself, but unfortunately, I’m not  _ that _ kind of engineer.”

The rest of the night and subsequent day passed much the same. 

Kerry tried to re-read the parts of  _ Jane Eyre _ she intended to cite in her essay, but eventually found herself lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering (not for the first time) what the  _ hell _ was going on at the Hotel California and why anyone in their right mind would want to stay there. 

(By the time she went to sleep Saturday night, she came to the conclusion that no one who stayed at the Hotel California  _ was _ in their right mind and that, honestly, The Eagles probably weren’t either.)

Sunday brought the weekly trip to church followed by Henry making his Famous Fried Chicken for lunch. 

Kerry had just settled at her desk and was ready to  _ actually _ begin her essay, when there was a loud crash from the garage (which, it should be noted, was on the  _ opposite _ side of the house from her bedroom).

Her concern overtaking her want to get her homework done, she automatically picked up her crutch from where it leaned against the desk next to her and made her way to the garage. 

There she found her father and Michael Levin (Jr.) looking down at a pile of splintered balsa wood on the garage floor. 

“What are you two doing?” she asked as she stepped down the two stairs from the door into the garage.

“Well, we’re learning that the new wood glue I bought doesn’t do its job very well,” Henry stated, considering the wood at his feet. Then, he looked up at the gangly teenager in front of him. “Sorry, Michael.”

“It’s okay,” Michael replied with a shrug. “I was thinking about making some changes to the design anyways.”

“What are you building?” Kerry asked, looking from them down to the broken pile of wood between them.

“A space center,” her father answered. “Michael convinced me at dinner a few weeks ago that if Train Table-topia was going to truly be a city of the future, it would need a space center.”

“I modeled it off of the Kennedy Space Center in Florida. You know, where they launch the rockets from?” Michael explained happily. “With some choice modifications though. Specifically to the living quarters. Because they’re astronauts. They deserve bigger houses.”

Kerry nodded slightly, though admittedly, she didn’t really care what size houses astronauts lived in.

There was movement behind her, and Mildred Weaver appeared in the doorway into the house. She laid her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, which prompted Kerry to look up at her. 

“Hello, dear,” she said, leaning forward slightly to kiss Kerry on the head. Then, she looked up at her husband. “Henry, where is my red casserole dish?”

Henry looked up at her and frowned. 

“On the shelf. In the cabinet,” he replied simply. “Where it’s supposed to be.”

“Well, it’s not. So, where is it?” Mildred replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

Henry thought hard for a moment, his frown deepening. He opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped himself. He shook his head. 

“Let me just come look for it.”

He stepped forward to follow Mildred back to the house, resting a hand briefly on Kerry’s arm to encourage her to move out of the way.

Without Henry present, the proximity to Michael suddenly felt strange, perhaps due to their last encounter with each other.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

Michael looked up from where he had knelt down to pick up the pieces of would-be model space center. 

“You do?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “For what?”

“For Friday,” Kerry replied, watching an ant crawl across the garage floor to avoid looking at him. “I should have asked before I sat down at your table. I’m sorry for almost knocking over your soup.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” Michael stood up and dusted off his pants before looking up at her and shrugging. “And, honestly, I don’t think it would have mattered if you had knocked it over. It wasn’t very good soup.”

When he said the words out loud, his eyes immediately widened. 

“Just… please don’t tell my mom that,” he said quickly. 

“I promise,” Kerry said with a small chuckle. 

Michael smiled. 

He bent back down to pick up the mess of wood scraps and set it on Henry’s workbench. 

“You want to help us?” he asked after a moment. “We could always use more hands.”

Kerry shook her head. 

“I’m working on my essay.”

“For Ms. Oliver’s class?” Michael asked, pointing to the book tucked into Kerry’s left arm that she hadn’t noticed she was still carrying. “I’ve got her for sixth period. But I haven’t started on it yet.”

Kerry nodded and looked back down at the book. 

“Well, if you’re just reading, you can always sit out here and read. It’s a nice day.”

He motioned to the mid-April sky through the open garage door. Sun peeked through the clouds, off-setting the breeze coming down from the north.

“I… guess I could sit out here,” Kerry replied slowly. 

“If you want to,” Michael added. “You don’t have to.”

There was movement in the doorway once again, this time of Henry making his way back into the garage.

“Got it all sorted out,” he said, passing by Kerry back towards his workbench. “It was in the cabinet  _ next _ to the one it was supposed to be in. It’s all figured out and got  _ mildly  _ reprimanded for it.”

Kerry chuckled slightly at the thought of what “mildly” reprimanded consisted on the Mildred Weaver Reprimand Scale. Knowing her mother, it likely involved her standing, arms folded, and watching judgmentally while he searched for said dish before she commented on the importance of putting things back where they went. 

When Henry noticed Kerry was still standing there instead of returning to her room like he expected, he looked at her questioningly.

“Are you going to help us out?”

“No, I’m going to sit here and read.”

Henry nodded and turned to Michael to discuss their next steps as Kerry pulled out a folded lawn chair and opened it. She sat down in it just as the small radio on the workbench began playing “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Oh. I like this one,” Henry said, pointing towards the radio. “It’s the random weird one. I like it.”

“I didn’t know you liked that kind of music, Mr. Weaver,” Michael commented, referring to Queen and the other top artists of the day.

“Well, I didn’t at first, but it sort of grows on you,” Henry said, shrugging. “And, well, it always seems to be playing in my house for some reason. Don’t know why  _ that  _ could be...”

Kerry glanced up from her book to see her father, smirking and glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. For a second she thought she might have to return a sheepish smile, but instead just chuckled as he winked. 


	3. Lo and Behold

James Taylor

“Lo and Behold”

_ Sweet Baby James  _ (1970)

Warner Bros. Records

* * *

Mildred Weaver shook her head. 

“I mean… if the committee wants to choose someone else to chair the event, that’s their prerogative. They can do that. And I know she’s young and that she’s got a lot of ideas but, honestly...” Mildred let out a huff. “It’s one thing to have a lot of ideas and it’s another to be able to pull them  _ off. _ And I just don’t think she has what it takes to pull it off.”

Mildred shrugged and rolled her eyes. But then, after a moment’s pause, she shook her head and threw up her hands in defense.

“You know what? I should stop complaining. The Lord will provide,” she said. Then, she dropped her voice so only Kerry could hear. “Now, will the Lord provide the fifteen hundred dollars I raised last year? Only the Lord knows. And if I know Eileen Shumacher’s work ethic, the answer will be no.”

She tut-tutted, shaking her head again, before she seemed to catch herself as she immediately laid a hand on Kerry’s arm. Kerry, who hadn’t been paying  _ any _ attention to whatever her mother was talking about, jumped in her chair.

“Obviously, this is between us,” Mildred stated. “Don’t go repeating this to anyone.”

Kerry’s brow furrowed. 

“Repeat what?”

“Exactly, dear,” Mildred replied, patting Kerry’s arm and nodding. “Exactly.”

Before Kerry could roll her eyes herself and turn her attention back to staring at the waiting room wall, a young blonde nurse stepped into the room, a chart in her hand. 

“Kerry Weaver?” she asked loudly. 

Kerry let out a sigh before proceeding to stand up and follow the nurse and her mother down the hallway. 

The nurse measured her height and weight in the hall before directing the mother and daughter into an exam room, where she then took Kerry’s vital signs. She had barely scribbled them down on the chart before a man with olive skin, dark hair, and a crisp white lab coat joined them.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted. 

“Hello, Michael,” Mildred responded, fighting the innate instinct to greet him with a hug before he sat down. “How are you? How’s Martha? I’d ask how Michael’s doing, but he seems to be at our house every other day, so we keep well up to date with him.”

“That’s still okay, right?” Michael Levin (Sr.) asked, frowning slightly. “Because if he ever gets on your nerves, feel free to send him home.”

“Oh, no, no. He’s fine. He’s a very nice young man,” Mildred replied, waving him away. “And he keeps Henry good company in the garage.”

Michael Sr.’s face softened slightly and his grin returned. 

“That’s good to hear.”

He accepted the chart from the nurse and glanced over it before swiveling his stool towards Kerry, who sat on the exam table. 

“And how have you been, Kerry? I do believe a ‘happy birthday’ is in order, right?” Michael Sr. asked, glancing down at the chart for a second before looking back up at her. “Another year older. Any wiser?”

“I don’t know,” she replied quickly, her furrowed brow furrowing deeper at Michael Sr.’s replying chuckle.

“I’d say that’s a ‘yes’ then,” he remarked. “Personally, I think you’re the wisest when you don’t know you’re being wise.”

Kerry began to roll her eyes, but caught sight her mother’s pointed eye contact and stopped herself. 

“So,” Michael Sr. said, clapping a hand to his chart. “Anything I should know about in the last year? Any hospitalizations or illnesses?”

Kerry and Mildred exchanged glances and then Kerry shook her head. 

“I got the flu in December,” she muttered, “but nothing else.”

“Well, just goes to show the importance of always getting your flu shot,” Michael Sr. said with a cheerful shrug. 

Kerry raised her brow and gave him the same withering stare she would be known for by the physicians under her leadership years later. 

“I  _ got _ my flu shot.”

“Ah… well, it’s not 100% effective,” Michael Sr. replied, his smile fading slightly. “You might have been exposed to it before you got the vaccine. Or it could have been a different strain.”

“I know.”

“_Kerry_ _Elizabeth._” 

“Don’t worry about it, Millie,” Michael Sr. said, chuckling. “She’s fine.”

Kerry was tempted to cast her mother a, but Mildred had already fixed her with a look that  _ very _ clearly read, “it most certainly is  _ not _ fine, but we will talk about this later.”

“Alright then,” Michael Sr. said, moving on. “How about you hop down for me.”

Kerry did as she was told and soon found herself being observed very carefully, which always served to make her feel extremely self-conscious. 

Michael Sr. tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as he looked her over. He paused at the hems of her pant legs.

They should have fallen evenly at the same spot over her dark grey Converse hi-top sneakers, but they didn’t. Instead, one fell slightly lower than the other, its hem resting on the top of the shoe instead of parallel to the knot at her ankle.

“Stand up straight for me.”

“I  _ am _ standing up straight.”

Michael Sr. paused, considering her reply. 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Take a few steps for me then.”

Kerry automatically reached for her crutch, but Michael Sr. shook his head. 

“Without it.”

The way Michael Sr.’s tone had changed from lighthearted to serious so suddenly caused mild panic to set in for both Kerry and her mother. But he said nothing else for a long moment, as his focus was on Kerry’s steps. 

He’d been the Weaver family physician (and close family family friend) for a few years now, and therefore considered himself pretty familiar with the youngest Weaver’s unique gait, but something was different about it today.

“How do you feel today, Kerry?”

“Uh… fine?” 

“Are you in any pain?”

Well,  _ yeah _ . Always. But none more so than usual, and definitely not anything she wanted to worry her mother about.

“No,” she answered. “Why?”

“You’re limping much heavier today than you were last year.” He glanced down at the chart and then flipped a page. “And you said you haven’t been seriously sick at all this year. What about falling? Have you fallen at all recently?”

“No.”

Michael Sr. frowned and looked at the chart again. Then, he looked down at Kerry’s feet again. 

“You grew two inches this year.”

“I did?”

Kerry hadn’t meant to sound so excited, but the additional two inches officially made her “average height”, and without any information about her biological lineage, she hadn’t been sure that was actually going to happen.

“Well… part of you did.”

Kerry and her mother exchanged glances and then both looked back to Michael Sr. at the same time. 

“Forgive those of us who don’t have medical degrees-” Kerry cleared her throat loudly. Mildred rolled her eyes. “Or those who don’t yet  _ have _ medical degrees, but how could only…  _ part _ of her have grown?”

“Well, before I answer that, I’m going to need more information.”

Kerry looked at him, confused. 

“From who?”

“From  _ you _ ,” Michael Sr. replied with a smile. “If we take a couple x-rays, I might be able to tell you more. So, why don’t I have Vera take you down the hall, they’ll take some pictures, and then we’ll go from there, okay?”

Kerry shrugged, but nodded nonetheless.

Vera, the same blonde nurse that had taken her vitals, came in a few minutes later and took her to the x-ray suite for a series of pelvis and leg films, before returning her to the exam room where her mother and Michael Sr. were chatting. And only a couple more minutes had passed before she returned again with the developed x-rays in hand.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Michael Sr. muttered as he placed turned on the light box hanging on the wall. He glanced sideways at Kerry, who appeared fascinated by the films. “Michael says you want to be a doctor. That right?”

Kerry nodded fervently, her gaze not shifting an inch from the x-rays. 

“Why don’t you come closer so you can see ‘em better,” Michael Sr. offered, ushering her over from her seat on the exam table.

Kerry eagerly joined him to better observe the films. Mildred, however, hung back in her chair. 

She was actively doing her best not to let her eyes get too wide, as she didn’t want Kerry to think that she had a problem with the  _ content _ of the x-rays when in all honesty, her problem was having to see x-rays at all. 

When it came to medicine, the most comfortable Mildred Weaver ever was was encouraging her husband to take low-dose aspirin with breakfast to lower his risk of heart attack. Other than that, she steered clear of the subject and considered her daughter’s interest in it one of the (relatively few) aspects of her personality that might be better attributed to nature rather than nurture. 

“So, one key thing you should know if you want to be a doctor is symmetry,” Michael Sr. explained as he looked between the films of Kerry’s right and left femurs. “Generally speaking, something on the left side of the body should be the same on the right. If something isn’t the same on both sides, then you need to figure out why.

“Now, there are a few exceptions to this, namely lungs. Lungs are not the same size and really shouldn’t be.”

Kerry’s head immediately snapped towards the physician. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, the left lung is smaller than the right to make room for the heart,” he explained. “If both lungs are the same size, then the heart doesn’t have enough space.”

Michael Sr. tapped his chin with his hand as he squinted at the x-rays. 

“What are you looking for?” Kerry asked curiously, trying to follow his line of sight. 

“In this case, I’m looking for a gap.”

“In between where the bones meet?” Kerry asked, noting the difference in height and shape of her right hip joint versus her left. 

“No,” Michael Sr. responded. “No, I’m looking for a gap on the end of the bone.”

Kerry scanned the x-ray again, pushing her glasses further up her nose so she could see it clearly. Then, she pointed to a very thin line at the top of the right femur.

“Is that a gap?”

Michael Sr. peered at it closer and his eyebrows rose as his expression grew impressed. 

“That’s exactly it,” he confirmed. “Huh. You found that faster than I did. Have you done this before?”

Kerry shook her head, pulling herself up to full height proudly.

“What is it?”

“It’s called the epiphysis. At the end of our long bones, like in our arms and legs, there is a gap while we grow. This gap determines how long the bone is going to grow. And when the gap closes, that means the bone is done growing,” Michael Sr. informed her. “How big the gap is depends on things like our DNA, our environment, illness, injury…”

“Birth defects?” Kerry said, nearly wincing at the word. 

“Yes. Those too,” Michael Sr. said, nodding. He pointed at the line. “And if you can see on this one, there is still a  _ tiny _ bit of a gap left, which means you still have a little bit of room left to grow. Probably… oh, I can’t say for sure, but maybe a… quarter inch?  _ Maybe _ half?”

Without meaning to, Kerry scoffed as if the statement had been a personal slight against her. 

“But if you can see on this leg,” Michael Sr. continued, not noticing (or perhaps flat out ignoring) her reaction, “there is no gap. It’s completely closed. So, when I said that  _ part _ of you grew two inches, I mean that this part did and this part didn’t.”

He pointed to the closed epiphysis on the left leg to the gap on the right leg and back.

Kerry took a small step forward to try and make out the closed epiphysis on the left leg, but to her untrained eye, she couldn’t make it out. 

“So…” Mildred said, speaking for the first time in several minutes. “What… so what you’re saying is that one leg is shorter than the other?”

“Yes,” Michael Sr. affirmed. “I’ll measure it here in a second, but I’d guess it's about those two inches from the past year.”

“And…” Mildred gave him an imploring shrug. “And what does this mean?”

Michael Sr. looked to the x-ray once more before taking a seat on his stool, which Kerry took as a signal to resume her seat too.

“That’s where it gets a little bit less clear. I can tell right now that it’s causing increased stress on Kerry’s hip because the pelvis is moved further out of alignment,” he said slowly, carefully gauging their understanding as he went. “Basically, it’s like standing on an uneven surface all the time. And my concern is that if we don’t address it now, it’ll cause even  _ more _ stress as well as additional problems down the line.”

“Like what? I mean I already…” Kerry’s words trailed off for a moment. “What difference does it make if it’s worse?”

At her seemingly disrespectful tone, Mildred shot her a look, but given that the tone was one of an honest curiosity, the look went unnoticed as the intended recipient’s attention was on the physician.

“Well,” Michael Sr. began, “everything in your body is connected.”

Kerry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Did they teach you that in medical school?”

Mildred opened her mouth to correct her, but Michael Sr. just chuckled. 

“Yep. First day. Actually, they expect you to know that  _ before _ you get into med school,” Michael Sr. said, smiling. “But,  _ because  _ everything in your body is connected, the longer that it goes on, it’ll start to cause other issues. It could affect your other hip, your back, your knees, your neck-”

“My  _ neck? _ ” Kerry said, narrowing her eyes.

Michael Sr. shrugged, which immediately made Kerry question everything he had just said in the last two minutes as well as, quite possibly, his ability to practice medicine. (This was the first time she had ever questioned this in a physician, but it would  _ definitely  _ not be the last.)

“Could be,” he stated, nodding. “The point is that addressing this now is far easier than waiting for it to become a bigger problem later.”

“And what, uh…” Mildred said quietly. “What exactly would… How would you address it?”

“There’s a couple ways, but the solution likely to be the most effective would be surgical intervention.”

“And…” Mildred took a deep breath, because though she desperately needed to know the answer for Kerry’s sake, she knew it would probably haunt her dreams later. “What kind of surgery are we… are we talking about?”

“It’s called external fixation,” Michael Sr. said, not noticing Mildred’s discomfort (probably because he was a little bit too concerned with how interested Kerry seemed in his words.) “The surgeons would make an incision on the top of the thigh so they can make an incision in the middle of the femoral bone to leave a small gap. Then, they’d use a drill -”

“You know what? I don’t think we need that level of detail,” Mildred said quickly, shaking her head. “Maybe just… just skip that part and give us the overview.”

“ _ I  _ need that level of detail,” Kerry said in a tone of both urgency and potential disappointment at not being allowed to learn further. She looked seriously at her mother. “If he’s going to do it to me, I need to know what’s going to happen.

“Just to be clear,  _ I _ wouldn’t be doing it,” Michael Sr. added. “I’d refer you to an orthopedic surgeon.”

“If you don’t want to listen, you can go wait in the hall and then I’ll fill you in later,” Kerry offered, her and her mother both ignoring Michael Sr.’s interjection.

Mildred considered this for a brief moment and then nodded. 

“That’s fine with me. I’ll just go stand outside and you can get me when this part’s over with.”

Mildred rose (much to Michael Sr.’s objection) and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Kerry turned back to Michael Sr. almost immediately, though he was still staring at the door, his mouth hanging open though the protest had long since faded. 

“You can go on. I’m listening.”

Michael Sr. turned to see Kerry sitting on the edge of the exam table, watching him expectantly. 

“Um… Maybe we should schedule for you to come back at some point with your dad instead-”

“I can tell him later,” Kerry stated, cutting him off. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. She narrowed her eyes at him. “So… what exactly would they do with the drill?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. These chapters are really long. I didn't mean for that to happen. 
> 
> Anyways, we've had a little bit of Kerry's dad and now we get a little bit of Kerry's mom. We will get a lot more of both of them as we go on. 
> 
> We also get a little bit of baby Kerry's interest in medicine, which I have to work in because... well, I have to. This is something we'll see a little bit more of too as we go along, though I'll just say now that this story will not feature _nearly _as much medicine as my other _ER_ story did, nor will it feature trauma. (At least... not in the 'trauma room' sense.)
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this, because I'm enjoying writing it. It's been a while since I've flexed more of my 'original fiction' muscles. I mostly write AUs, which involves a lot of original ideas, but it's typically woven into canon events. Hwoever, next to AUs, prequels are my bread and butter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Until next time. 


	4. Cold as Ice

Foreigner

“Cold as Ice”

_ Foreigner _ (1977)

Atlantic Records

* * *

Kerry checked her watch: 5:45 pm.

She tried to remind herself that the group had not actually planned to meet until six and that she had just planned to get to the library ridiculously early. Still, the reassurance did little to get her to refocus on the Algebra II homework in front of her.

Two weeks had passed since she and her father had met with the surgeon regarding the surgical lengthening of her left leg. It wasn’t until meeting with him that it really sunk in that the medical procedure she had been so interested to discuss in theory with Michael Sr. was actually going to soon be a reality. 

And the fear and anxiety over this that had been poking at her in those weeks had galvanized into frustration. Twice now, she had snapped at her parents over such little things that it almost got her grounded.

“Hi, Kerry.”

Kerry looked up from her work and her frustration lessened just the tiniest bit at the sight of Jill Hadwell, one of the members of her AP US History group, standing above her.

They’d been assigned a current events project which so far had been talked about only briefly between group members before or after class. But given that the due date was now imminent, they group had decided they needed some time together outside of class to put everything together.

“Is this where we’re meeting?” Jill asked, eyeing the small study table and mentally calculating whether or not all six group members could fit at it. 

“Uh, no,” Kerry replied. “I reserved the meeting room over there.”

She pointed to a room on the far side of the library. It was roughly half the size of a standard classroom and came complete with things like a chalkboard and projector and other various tools.

“Oh. Great,” Jill replied, looking from the room back to Kerry. “Do we have to wait until six or-”

“We can go in now,” Kerry replied. “No one else had shown up yet.”

Jill nodded and gave Kerry a small smile before turning in the direction of the meeting room. 

Jill was always so nice that Kerry immediately felt bad about snapping at her (and perhaps just a _ tad _ bit because of how oddly fast her heart beat at the smile).

Though hardly more than acquaintances, the two girls were always relieved to be assigned to project groups together, as they knew being in a group with the other meant they were not going to be the _ only _ person doing any of the work. 

It wasn’t long after they had settled into seats around the table in the meeting room when two more of their group arrived: Rich Palmer, who was also in Kerry’s English class, Greg Salyer, captain of the debate team (who had nothing on Kerry, though she was not interested in that particular extracurricular activity), and Nadine Weaton, a rather quiet girl that Kerry had only interacted with when the class of 1979 had to line up in alphabetical order. 

“Where’s Toby?” Jill asked, glancing around the table. 

“He said he had lacrosse practice that ended at 5:30pm,” Rich replied. “He should be here soon.”

Kerry, who had seated herself at the head of the table, looked up at the clock directly opposite her. The hour and minute hands were vertical.

“He’s late,” Kerry stated in a rather cold business-like tone. “If it ended at 5:30pm, then he should have had plenty of time to get here.”

“We can wait a few more minutes,” Jill offered quickly. “I mean… I’m not in any rush.”

Kerry wanted to reply that she _ was _ in a rush, seeing as she had a fair amount of other homework that she wanted to finish sometime before they graduated when a terrible odor permeated the room. 

Tobias Jansson ran in, still dressed in his practice jersey, and took a seat on the other end of the table. Every other member of the group barely even noticed as they were too busy holding their breath against his BO.

“Sorry guys,” Toby said, pulling out his folder. “Practice ran late and I knew you guys were waiting so I ran over as fast as I could.”

“You could have at least taken a shower first, man,” Rich said, pinching his nose. 

“Sorry, but _ someone _ said that if we didn’t get here by six, there would be hell to pay,” Toby said, raising his eyes pointedly at Kerry. 

“I didn’t say that,” Kerry replied.

She’d have scowled in his direction if she wasn’t fighting so hard not to gag.

“I didn’t say it was _ you _, Kerry,” Toby shot back, rolling his eyes. “Especially since no one put you in charge.”

“Let’s just get to work, alright?” Jill asked, raising hands at both of them. “The sooner we get done with this, the sooner we can go home and Toby can wash off whatever the hell he rolled in.”

The others snickered at Jill’s insult, but Toby took it in his stride. He flashed her what he clearly thought was a winning smile and raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Any interest in taking the shower _ with _ me, eh, Jill?”

Rich and Greg both smirked at Nadine and Kerry’s simultaneous looks of disgust. But Jill just frowned at him. 

“I’d barf if I didn’t think it would make the smell worse.” She rolled her eyes. “Alright. Kerry, you called us together. Why don’t you start us off?”

“Right,” Kerry said, nodding. She adjusted her papers in front of her. “Well, there were six parts of the assignment so we all split it up evenly. Jill did part A, I did part B, Toby did part C, Nadine part D, Rich part E, and Greg part F. I figured we could all look over each others’ papers and then talk about them. That way we can put it all together to turn it in tomorrow.”

“We don’t have to do that _ tonight _,” Toby said. “I mean, it’s not due until Friday.”

The rest of the group exchanged glances just short of horror before looking down at the assignment rubric in front of them. At the top read in very clear letters: _ Due Wednesday May 18th, 1977. No late work will be accepted. _

Kerry was the first to look up at him. 

“It’s due tomorrow.” At his sheepish grin, her eyes grew wide. “Toby, you didn’t.”

“Nope. I didn’t,” he said, grimacing as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Then, he sat forward. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy lately. We’re getting ready for the city finals and I didn’t have time. I’m sorry.”

“You had all weekend,” Kerry said curtly, anger rising in her chest. “You’ve had _ several _ weekends.”

Rich opened his mouth to reiterate his point that weekends didn’t count as time to complete homework, but he didn’t have the chance to.

“I’ve got practice on Fridays and tournaments all day Saturdays. Sundays are the only time I have to catch up on stuff,” Toby informed her sincerely. 

“I see. You just decided that he project that’s worth 20% of our quarter grade just wasn’t worth catching up on,” Kerry hissed.

“I didn’t decide it wasn’t worth catching up on-”

“No, you just didn’t care.”

“I _ forgot _,” Toby said, enunciating each syllable. "I swear to God. I didn’t mean to forget, but I did. And before you say anything about ‘planning better,’ trust me I tried. But not all of us have an overabundance of free time to sit around and plan things like you do, Kerry.”

Kerry’s jaw clenched tightly, embarrassment adding to the anger rising in her chest at his latter statement. But before she could lash out at him again, Jill slammed her hands down on the table. 

“_ Guys _ . It is _ not _ that big of a deal,” she snapped, looking between them both. “We don’t have time to argue over this, so let’s just… Let’s just try and get part C done so we can tomorrow.”

“He’s the one who forgot. Why should the rest of us have to make up for it?” Nadine asked quietly. 

(It was a good thing she spoke up, because if Kerry had had the chance to, there may have been bloodshed. Whether it was to physically or metaphorically speaking remains unknown.)

“Because if we don’t, then we all suffer,” Jill said in a calm, controlled tone. She looked between the members of the group for a moment for any response before moving on. When none came, she inhaled deeply. “Okay. Now, Toby, do you at least have the newspapers you were supposed to collect in order to do part C?”

Toby shook his head. 

“I’ll go get them,” Kerry stated firmly, rising from her chair. “You all can start figuring out what we have to do to finish part C. Since Toby didn’t.”

She had already threaded her arm through the cuff of the crutch and had turned for the door before Toby spoke.

“I said I was sorry, Kerry,” he called after her. 

“Yeah? Well, sorry doesn’t get our homework done.”

Kerry had been angrily shuffling through back issues of the _ Star Tribune _ for several minutes when Jill came out to join her. 

“I’m almost done,” she muttered bitterly as she pulled another paper off the newsrack. “Give me a few more minutes.”

“I figured I’d come out and help you,” Jill said, picking up one of the newspapers Kerry had pulled out. “To make it go faster. Plus, I couldn’t keep sitting there in Toby’s stink. His smell is _ almost _as terrible as his pick-up lines.”

Jill rolled her eyes, chuckling, though Kerry didn’t know what was that funny about it.

She herself had never had much interest in boys, which she figured was for the best as most of her options were sweaty, smelly, and frankly just underwhelming. But, if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t have much interest in boys because boys didn’t seem to have much interest in her. 

They didn’t seem to think she was as pretty as the other girls, wasn’t interesting enough to go on dates with, or was anything other than smart and intimidating. So, she had decided that if she wasn’t worth their time, then they weren’t worth hers.

And though decades later she would look back on this and chuckle with the clarity of hindsight at the realizations that had come to pass, during her teenage years, this was no laughing matter. 

“Here,” Jill said after several minutes of searching. “Since we don’t have any international newspapers here to do the state-national-international comparison, we can use the _Star Tribune, Plain-Dealer, _and _The_ _New York Times_ for a state-regional-national comparison. What do you think?”

“It’ll have to be good enough,” she grumbled, picking up a few of the newspapers and tucking them into the crook of her arm. “I can’t _ believe _ that Toby forgot.”

“I know, right? Like I actually thought for once the entire project was going to be done without any problems,” Jill said, rolling her eyes and pausing for a moment for Kerry to draw even with her. “But also… I kind of get where he’s coming from. I mean, during volleyball season, even though the coaches are constantly on us about keeping up our grades, it feels like they never give us any time to actually _ do _ that, you know?”

Kerry did not know, but she nodded nonetheless.

They walked in silence for a moment back towards the meeting room. But when they arrived, they both stopped dead in their tracks at the scene before them. 

Toby had grabbed a yardstick from off the ledge of the chalkboard and held it next to him like a cane. He had just been saying, “and that doesn’t turn in our homework, Toby!” in a high, nasally voice when he looked up. 

Immediately, he froze. The yardstick clattered to the floor and, for the first time that evening, he looked legitimately remorseful. The others followed his line of sight and they too assumed expressions ranging from fear to shame to guilt. 

Jill looked from them to Kerry, who was staring at them wide-eyed. 

“Kerry, I…”

Toby’s voice trailed away as he and all the others watched her closely for her reaction. 

There was a long, tense pause. Finally, she inhaled deeply and stepped forward. 

Without a word, she tossed the newspapers onto the table and picked up her bag. She slung it over her arm and turned away from them all, very aware of all their eyes on her retreating figure, but paying it no mind as her goal at this moment was trying not to cry.

Jill tried to follow after her, but gave up once Kerry had pushed the doors open and stepped out into the parking lot. 

Her father was supposed to pick her up at 7:15 pm after he got done with his meeting. Rather than go back inside and face the embarrassment of calling her mother, Kerry instead turned and started for the street. 

The distance to the library had never felt exceedingly long _ before _, but then again, she had never walked it before. 

By the time she reached her front door forty minutes later, she was _ exhausted _ . Everything ached, which only contributed to the tears that she was only _ just _ managing to hold back. 

Mildred looked up from the rerun of _ The Carol Burnett Show _she had been watching at the sound of the door opening. When Kerry stepped inside, Mildred glanced to the clock and back.

“You’re home early.”

“I got done early,” Kerry said in a voice barely louder than a grunt. 

“Is your father in the garage?”

Kerry stopped right past where her mother lay on the sofa. 

“No, he’s still at his meeting,” she replied, turning back towards the kitchen. “I need to call him.”

“If he’s still at his meeting, then how did you get home?” Mildred asked, frowning as she rose from the sofa. 

“I walked,” Kerry answered flatly. 

Mildred frowned as Kerry picked up the phone from where it hung on the kitchen wall and dialed the number. She waited through Kerry’s brief discussion with the person who picked up and then with her father informing him that she no longer needed picked up from the library. 

When she hung the phone up again and turned to start for her bedroom, Mildred laid a hand on Kerry’s shoulder. 

“Honey, if you needed a ride home, you could have called us. We’d have come picked you up.”

“It’s fine. It wasn’t that far.”

Kerry started forward, but Mildred stepped into her path, observing her carefully. 

Her striped sweater didn’t seem ripped, nor did her pants. Her red hair hung long and straight over her shoulders like it always did. Her glasses were on her nose and her grey-and-silver crutch was still on her arm. 

Nothing _ looked _wrong, but it only took one look at her face to know something definitely was. 

“What’s wrong, dear?” Mildred asked softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Kerry’s ear. “Did something happen?”

“No.”

“If something did, you can tell me ab-” 

“Nothing happened,” Kerry said, cutting her off. “I need to go finish my homework.”

“I’m sure it can wait for just one night-”

“It _ can’t _. Now, let me through.” At Mildred’s raised eyebrow, Kerry wilted. “Please. Please let me through.”

Mildred sighed and stepped aside. She watched Kerry make her way across the living room and down the hall. A moment after her figure disappeared behind the wall, Mildred heard the door of Kerry’s room shut loudly.

This was hardly the first time that Kerry had declined to talk about something with either her or Henry and Mildred knew that it was entirely her fault. 

Shortly after Kerry had started the seventh grade, she had admitted to her parents that boys at school had been harassing her outside her locker. As Kerry rarely had disagreements or really problems of _ any _ kind with the kids in the various villages they’d lived in previously, Mildred had chosen to approach it the same way she had in the past: be kind, use your words, and work it out. 

Two weeks later, they had had to pick her up from a meeting with the principal over Kerry’s hitting one of the boys in a rather _ sensitive _area with her crutch. When Mildred had confronted Kerry over it when they got home, Kerry just kept saying, “I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen.”

It had taken Mildred a while to realize that what Kerry had _ really _ been saying was, “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.” 

And she hadn’t given them the opportunity to listen since. 

Mildred was still standing at the doorway to the kitchen when Henry arrived home a short while later. Henry greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, but it elicited no response.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Henry asked, his brow furrowing.

“Kerry’s upset.”

“Did something happen?” 

Mildred shrugged. 

“I think so. But she wouldn’t tell me,” she said with a sigh. “I can never get her to tell me anything anymore.”

“She’s just reserved is all,” Henry remarked, removing his hat from his head. 

“She didn’t _ used _ to be,” Mildred pushed back, albeit without much strength. “She used to tell me everything. And now I can’t get anything out of her. Even when we both know she’s lying to me.”

“Eh, teenagers are just like that, dear. She’ll grow out of it.” 

“Yes, but will she grow out of it before I’m dead?” 

Henry laid a consoling hand on Mildred’s shoulder, but Mildred just continued to stare at the wall of the hallway. 

“I didn’t wait twenty-five years for a child just to fail her,” Mildred said in a voice so low that Henry had to struggle to hear it. “And yet that’s all I ever feel I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there are two key things in this chapter.
> 
> The first thing is that, technically, the chapter title broke the rule, but I let it slide anyway.
> 
> If you haven't noticed, each chapter of this story is titled after a song. Now, most of the songs were chosen because the song titles just really fit as chapter titles for that specific chapter though the song's tone doesn't match the tone of the chapter, but some were chosen because they do. Specifically, I'm talking about the song "Kerry" by Hall & Oates. If you happened to read this in the first twelve hours that I posted it, _yes_, I changed the chapter title, but I had to. The song fits the character _so_ well that I'm inclined to think they named the character in the show after it. I'm not kidding. Go [listen to it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O--8n5oKdH0) or at the very least [read the lyrics](https://genius.com/Hall-and-oates-kerry-lyrics) and you'll see what I mean.
> 
> Though each chapter is titled after a song, they don't/ won't have much bearing on the chapter itself (except for one later chapter). In other words, it's not a songfic by most (any?) definition of the term. However, even so, there _are_ rules. Specifically, the rule is that the songs must have been released in 1977 or before and by popular enough artists that it would be feasible for the character to hear it on the radio during the events of the story. "Cold as Ice" by Foreigner breaks the rule because, though it was released in 1977, it was not released until _October_ 1977\. Therefore, it would not have been played on the radio in May 1977.
> 
> The second thing is that you may have noticed a very familiar scene in this here chapter.
> 
> If you read "Unexpected Circumstances," you'll notice that this is a bit of a pattern for me. There is a scene in that story where a character's actions reference a famous _ER_ scene that comes later in the show. In that case, though, it was a different character under a different circumstance than the original scene. The referenced scene in this chapter happens to the _same_ character in a very similar circumstance. (I'm trying to be vague in case you haven't read the other fic yet and I don't want to spoil anything.)
> 
> When I watched the scene in s2e4 "What Life?" where Kerry walks in on Doug Ross making fun of her in the lounge, the first thing that struck me about it (other than heart-clenching pain) was that it seemed so much like a scene from a YA novel or teen movie. It would have worked the same way had the setting not been an ER staff lounge, but a high school cafeteria. And part of the reason it struck me like this was because, to me, the wide-eyed fear on Kerry's face.
> 
> If this was the first time this had happened, it would have made sense to have her angry and shocked. But, though clearly shocked, it wasn't an _angry_ shock. It was a fearful, embarassed shock, the shock of someone who could not believe what they were seeing, but wasn't seeing this for the first time. In other words, the shock of someone who couldn't believe that they were seeing this _again_. 
> 
> I'd apologize for the pain, but, hey, I told you in the tags that she was not going to have a good time. You knew what you were getting into. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading! Until next time :) 


	5. Already Gone

The Eagles

“Already Gone”

_ On the Border _(1974)

Asylum Records

* * *

Kerry knocked on the door, straining her neck to see through the window on the door. 

For a moment there was no movement, at which she assumed the worst. But almost as soon as the fear took hold, it dissipated at the sound of footsteps beyond the door. 

“Oh, hello, dear,” the old woman who opened it greeted at the sight of Kerry. “You’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until much later.”

Kerry gave the woman a small smile, in which the woman did not seem to notice the sadness in her eyes. 

She wasn’t early. In fact, thanks to getting caught up in studying for her math final, she was actually over an hour late. But to Mrs. Lawson, the nice old lady who lived in the house at the end of the street, time didn’t seem to matter much. 

Mrs. Lawson stepped aside to allow Kerry to enter. 

“What happened to your leg, dear?” Mrs. Lawson asked, concern growing on her face as she closed the door behind Kerry. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Mrs. Lawson was the only person who was allowed to ask this question as many times as she wanted and not get yelled at for it. It had been uncomfortable the first few times it happened (because it was _ always _ uncomfortable) but Kerry quickly learned that she wasn’t doing it on purpose. It didn’t matter how many times Kerry told her the answer. She’d always forget. 

“Fell off my bike,” Kerry answered simply.

“Well, at least you were wearing a helmet,” Mrs. Lawson said, nodding. 

“I brought you some chicken corn chowder and some bread,” Kerry informed her, stepping towards the kitchen table and putting the bag of groceries. “I’m going to heat it up for you, okay?”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Lawson said with a soft smile. “Will your brother be joining us for dinner tonight?”

Mrs. Lawson’s face fell when Kerry shook her head. 

“I’m going to… I’m going to have him come over tomorrow,” Kerry said quietly. 

Mrs. Lawson’s face brightened. She settled into her chair and picked up her knitting from the basket at her face. Then, suddenly remembering something, she looked up at Kerry.

“And make sure you have that wife of his and the baby come too, alright?”

Kerry nodded before picking up the soup and turning for the kitchen. 

Kerry had met Mrs. Lawson when she was thirteen. Though her son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren lived less than a mile away, when Mrs. Lawson had been hospitalized for an illness a few years ago, it took someone distantly connected to her that attended the Weaver’s church to arrange for someone to visit her. Given how close Mrs. Lawson lived to them, the Weavers made a casserole and had Kerry deliver it to her.

It didn’t take long for Kerry to figure out that the reason why Mrs. Lawson had gotten sick in the first place was because she wasn’t taking her medicine. When asked, Mrs. Lawson grew defensive of it, saying she may have missed a dose or two, but it wasn’t anything Kerry needed to trouble herself about.

But, true to form, Kerry_ did _ trouble herself about it. She started bringing dinner once a week, wrote little reminder notes about taking medicine or bathing. But over the coming months, medication was not the only thing that Mrs. Lawson forgot more and more of. 

In conversation, Mrs. Lawson began occasionally referring to her as Patricia. And while at first, Kerry corrected her (not wanting to be confused with her arch nemesis), there soon became no point in doing so. 

The only thing that made it _ slightly _ better was that Kerry came to learn through Mrs. Lawson’s repeated stories that Patricia wasn’t just the name of her granddaughter, but the name of her daughter, for whom Trish was named. The elder Patricia Lawson had died when she was in college, the circumstances of which Mrs. Lawson refused to disclose.

“Did you eat dinner yesterday?” Kerry called from the kitchen once the soup was heating on the stove.

“What, dear?” Mrs. Lawson called back. 

Kerry poked her head out of the kitchen. 

“I asked if you ate dinner yesterday.”

“Well, of course I did, dear,” Mrs. Lawson said, frowning. “You brought it to me.”

Kerry nodded slowly and turned back to the stove before letting out a small sigh. She pulled open the refrigerator and counted the Tupperware on the top shelf. Each one was carefully labeled with a date and what food was contained therein. 

The fridge was almost empty, which she took as a good sign. That meant that, even if Mrs. Lawson had a difficult time remembering what day it was, she wasn’t forgetting to eat. 

She was pulling bowls out of the kitchen cupboard to start setting the table when she noticed an assortment of pill bottles on the windowsill, some of which looked brand new. 

“Mrs. Lawson, did you go to the doctor recently?” Kerry said, poking her head out of the kitchen doorway once again. 

“Yes, dear. He stopped by for a house call, well…” Mrs. Lawson’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember. “I… I don’t know when.”

“Did he give you new medicine?” Kerry asked, looking down at the bottle in her hand. 

“Uh, well, I don’t really recall...I-I don’t know.”

Mrs. Lawson’s shoulders drooped as she deflated, an expression of hopelessness on her face. Kerry managed to get across the room and to her side right in time for Mrs. Lawson to start crying. 

“I can’t remember. I’m so stupid,” she said in a sorrowful voice. “So stupid my own son doesn’t even want to come visit me.”

“No, no, no,” Kerry said quickly, trying to reassure her. “No, no… he’s just… he’s just busy. Busy with the new baby. He’s gonna... I’m going to tell him to come visit you tomorrow, okay? Okay?”

Mrs. Lawson’s eyes met Kerry’s and for a moment, Kerry feared her memory had briefly returned and the old woman saw through the lie. 

“You… you promise?” 

Kerry nodded sincerely. 

“I promise. I-I… I will _ make _ him come,” she said in as strong a voice as she could muster. “I promise.”

Mrs. Lawson just stared at Kerry for a moment before slowly nodding herself. Kerry watched with bated breath for the old woman to take a deep breath of her own before she straightened up. 

“You take such good care of me, Patricia,” Mrs. Lawson said with a genuine, soft smile. “I’m so glad I still have you around.”

Kerry smiled weakly as Mrs. Lawson patted the old her gently on the hand. 

But her mind was still on the medications on the windowsill as she ladeled the heated soup out into bowls a few minutes later. Some of the pills in the bottles looked very similar to each other, specifically her new blood pressure medicine that was supposed to be taken three times a day. 

“Here. It looks like you’re supposed to take this one with your dinner,” Kerry said, setting down a Lasix tablet on the table next to Mrs. Lawson’s bowl of soup.

“I do?” Mrs. Lawson asked, picking up the tablet and looking at it closely. 

“Yes,” Kerry said, taking a seat next to her at the table. “The bottle says you’re supposed to take it three times a day. So, once when you get up in the morning, one with lunch, and one with dinner.”

Mrs. Lawson nodded with the same level of sincerity as those who would receive medication instructions from Dr. Kerry Weaver, MD several years later.

She and Mrs. Lawson finished their dinner together a short while after, and Kerry proceeded to pack up the leftovers and do the dishes before she readied herself to go. 

“You’ve got plenty of food in the fridge and your medicine is next to the window,” Kerry announced, pausing in front of Mrs. Lawson’s chair, her mother’s Tupperware in hand. 

“Thank you, dear. I really appreciate it.”

“And I’ll be back to see you nex-”

Kerry cut herself off and took a moment and thought through the events of the coming week. 

She had finals tomorrow and Friday and was scheduled for surgery first thing Monday morning. Her surgeon predicted that, if they got it the process started as early as possible, they should be able to remove the fixator at the end of the summer. Kerry had agreed wholeheartedly, as she had _ no _ intention of going back to school with it still on. 

“I… I don’t know when the next time I’ll see you is,” she realized aloud. 

“Why not?” Mrs. Lawson asked with an earnest curiosity that hurt Kerry’s heart. 

“I’m…” She thought hard for a moment. “I’m… going on a trip. And-and… And it might be a couple months before I can see you again.”

Mrs. Lawson nodded sadly.

“But I’ll make sure that Mitch comes and sees you in the meantime, okay?” Kerry added quickly. “Remember? I promised.”

This seemed to pacify Mrs. Lawson, who nodded again, this time a little stronger. 

“Alright,” she said softly, before looking back up at Kerry. “So… I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Kerry sighed and nodded. 

“Yes. You’ll see me tomorrow.”

Mrs. Lawson lived only a few doors down from the Weavers, so it wasn’t long before Kerry was pushing open the door to the garage.

“Hi, Kerry,” Michael greeted from his place at Henry’s workbench. He barely glanced up from the design he was sketching.

Kerry looked around the garage for a moment, frowning.

“Where’s my dad?” she asked. “Are you in here by yourself?”

“No. He just went to the bathroom,” Michael said, straightening up on his stool. “What’s up?”

Kerry, who had come in with a plan fully formed but had lost it at her father’s absence, looked at Michael. 

Then, it returned. 

“I need you to do me a favor,” she said, stepping forward towards the workbench.

Michael’s eyes widened. He raised his hands defensively.

“I don’t have any money.”

Kerry opened her mouth to reply and then closed it, before raising an eyebrow at him. 

“I don’t need any money,” she stated. “Why did you think I needed money?”

“Usually when people say that they need a favor, it means they need money,” Michael stated, lowering his hands. “Like when Jared Davis came to me and asked for a favor, and now I have no money.”

“Jared _ Davis?” _ Kerry said, her brow furrowing. “Michael, Jared Davis’ dad owns the tire factory… and is on the City Council. He doesn’t _ need _ any money.”

“Yeah, I know that _ now _,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “And I even told him he didn’t need to worry about paying me back. Like an idiot.”

Kerry could help but smirk a bit at Michael’s plight. He looked down at the garage floor for a second, kicking at it absently, before glancing up at her. 

“You know, for a moment there, I thought you were going to contradict me.”

“I’m not.”

He tried his best to pout pitifully, but he couldn’t do so without laughing, which in turn made Kerry laugh too.

Michael enjoyed making Kerry laugh, mostly because it was a really hard thing to do. But also because he often felt that she looked like she really needed it. 

“So, what favor do you need?” he inquired as their chuckles died down.

“Do you know Mrs. Lawson? Who lives at the end of the street?” Kerry asked, the laughter present a moment ago gone from her face and replaced with her usual concern. 

“No?” Michael replied. Then, he paused. “Wait.... like _ Patricia _Lawson?”

“It’s her grandma,” Kerry affirmed, nodding. “But… she’s the _ good _part of the family.”

“What about her?”

“I take her dinner on Wednesdays. And I don’t know… I’m not sure how much I’m going to be able to do that this summer,” Kerry explained. “So, I need you to do it.” 

It was Michael’s turn to look concerned.

“Why won’t you be able to?”

“That’s not important,” Kerry said quickly. “I just… Will you please do it for me? It’s really easy. You just take her dinner, make sure she takes her medicine, and then wash her dishes before you go.”

Michael considered this for a moment.

“I’m not really that good of a cook…”

“Then have your mom make something,” Kerry said, rolling her eyes. Her tone turned pleading. “Or order her pizza for all I care. Just _ please _ do it for me? She doesn’t… I don’t think she has anyone else to go visit her.”

And she really didn’t, as far as Kerry knew. It was one of the first things she learned when she had started visiting three years ago and it had been the single driving factor that took her back each week, even before she realized Mrs. Lawson’s memory problems.

The old lady down the street had been sad and lonely and Kerry had been sad and lonely too. She had figured that they could be sad and lonely together.

“It’s really that important to you?” 

Michael’s tone was inquisitive and not judgmental which led Kerry to nod sincerely. He nodded in reply. 

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

She had barely even processed saying the words “thank you” out loud before she found herself hugging Michael tight around the middle. Given that he was six inches taller than her, she barely came up to his chin. 

Surprised by this uncharacteristic expression of gratitude, for a moment, Michael just paused, unsure of what to do. But then, he took a breath and hugged her back, albeit in the awkward manner of a gangly teenage boy.

Henry stood in the doorway smirking to himself for a long moment before Michael realized he was there. He watched with amusement as the boy’s eyes grew wide.

But to his credit, Michael did not immediately jerk out of the hug like many others in his situation would have done. For one, he hated the idea of making Kerry feel like he was embarrassed to be seen hugging her and for two, there really was no point now. 

Henry had already seen it, which meant there was no stopping the inevitable gossip between the Levin and Weaver families this Friday night when his parents invited them over to have dinner on Shabbat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the shortest chapter so far and it is still over two thousand words. I should _probably_ be doing my readings for class... but this is more fun. Plus, it's been a helluva week and I needed to practice some self-care.
> 
> Anyways, here ya go. Hope you're enjoying it. 
> 
> Until next time.


	6. Landslide

Fleetwood Mac

“Landslide”

_ Fleetwood Mac _ (1975)

Reprise Records

* * *

The fact that Kerry was allowing Mildred to lie holding her for so long just went to show how miserable the girl felt. 

Everything had gone well in the surgery. Kerry had spent one night in the hospital for observation with Mildred by her side all night (hospital phobias be damned). She’d come home yesterday morning and had risen from bed only once or twice since then.

The fixator sat about an inch off of the outside of her left thigh. Two metal rods connected it to the femur, one an inch and a half above her knee and one about four inches above that. They’d been instructed to leave it alone for a few days before they would start adjusting the knob on the end of the fixator, which would move the two pieces of bone apart so new bone could grow in between.

Kerry whimpered in her sleep. Mildred hugged her tighter to her, struggling not to let guilt overwhelm her. 

She and Henry hadn’t known about the problems with Kerry’s hip until she was almost fourteen months old. The girl had hit every other developmental milestone with no problem (and some even  _ early _ ), but refused to walk. But given that they didn’t learn this until Kerry was over a year old, the only option for treatment would have been surgery. 

Even Henry, who didn’t share Mildred’s hesitations about medicine, was skeptical as the options laid out to them by the doctors they consulted with all sounded painful and invasive. It was the very early 60s after all, and though pediatric surgery had come a long way, it still had a long way to go.

Mildred laid awake at night worrying over whether or not to treat it when Kerry was young. 

What if they moved forward with the surgery, and put Kerry through all of that and it didn’t even work? Or worse, what if she signed all those papers and let them take Kerry into surgery and she never came back?

She had spent too much of her life aching for the chance to raise a child to be the reason that child died. 

So, they chose a more conservative route. Kerry was fitted with forearm crutches and, within a week, was off to the races. (Quite literally. Once she learned how to use them, Henry and Mildred had a very difficult time keeping up with her.)

Over the following ten years they then spent moving from place to place around the African continent, Kerry was, for lack of a better term, the embodiment of joy. 

She was bubbly, cheerful, and could (and would) talk your ear off about whatever she felt was most important that day. She quickly befriended the children in each of the villages they went to, often before the adults had established a rapport of their own. She enjoyed being silly and playing games just as much as she enjoyed reading books and learning. 

She still was that embodiment of joy the morning they had waved her goodbye on her first day of seventh grade. But when she stepped off the bus that afternoon, she was a different person all together. 

Gone was the carefree enjoyment of life. Gone was the cheerfulness and the joy. Gone was the silly, smart girl they had known for twelve years. 

Kerry grew quieter and more distant. She had always been a dreamer of big dreams and made up for often being the smallest of the group by being the most competitive, but her dreams and competitive nature was all good-spirited. But after a few months in Minnesota, that drive took a darker edge. Her big dreams became ambition, and her competitive edge no longer playful, but biting. 

But if the lingering sense that she should have recognized the hip dysplasia when Kerry was a baby and the later stark change in her personality years later wasn’t enough to make Mildred harbor an immense amount of guilt, Kerry’s shame was. 

Kerry’s crutch was no longer the beloved tool it had been in her childhood, a tool that allowed her to do what she most enjoyed like dance, play, and run around. It was now an embarrassment, one that made her feel paranoid and isolated.

Funny how self-esteem worked like that. Take something about yourself that up until that moment was simply just a fact - not good, not bad, just  _ there _ . And then other people start noticing this fact and have strong feelings about it, which they share with you. And before you know it, you’ve taken their feelings into yourself until you can’t tell where their opinions stopped and your own began.

Mildred stroked Kerry’s hair, nuzzling her face into her daughter’s neck. She could hear Kerry’s slow, deep breaths and it wasn’t long before Mildred’s breathing was slowing too. But as soon as Mildred closed her eyes to fall asleep herself, she felt Kerry shift. 

Thinking that Kerry needed to go to the bathroom, Mildred sat up, ready to roll over and get up to hand Kerry her crutches and offer a hand as needed. 

(Given that recovery would require weight-bearing and two crutches were recommended, the surgeon had proactively prepared under-the-arm crutches for her to use post-surgery. Even half-asleep from anesthesia, Kerry refused them and ended up making the surgical team scour the entire facility for an additional forearm crutch.)

Kerry turned over from where she had been curled up on her right side onto her back. But fast asleep, she turned over too quickly. Pain shot up her leg, jolting her awake and making her cry out involuntarily.

“Mommy?” she said in a tiny, pained voice, her eyes squeezed tightly.

“I’m here, sweetie,” Mildred said in a soothing whisper. 

Mildred laid back down, careful to keep her distance so she didn’t accidentally bump Kerry’s leg and exacerbate the pain. Instead of cuddling close to her, she just held Kerry’s hands in one of her own and stroked her arm with the other. 

“Mommy, it  _ hurts _ .”

Kerry’s voice sounded so weak and miserable, so much younger than she was, and so out of place coming from her otherwise headstrong, independent daughter that Mildred’s chest immediately heaved. 

“I know, baby,” Mildred whispered, one hand moving to stroke Kerry’s cheek. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you, honey.”

Kerry drew in a deep breath and turned back over onto her side.

Mildred paused for a moment, unsure of whether it could potentially hurt Kerry to spoon her again. But that changed as soon as Kerry lifted her head to look over her shoulder, her brow furrowed as if to ask why her mother had not resumed comforting her. 

The older woman carefully adjusted herself so she could wrap her arm over Kerry, who took it and hugged it tightly against her. Almost as if she thought Mildred was going to get up and leave. 

Kerry comfortable in her arms, Mildred murmured soft reassurances to her. Words reminding her how much she loved her, how grateful she was for her, how she was here and that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

They laid there for a long while. Mildred was starting to drift off to sleep again, and was sure that Kerry already had, when she heard a very soft voice say, “I’m glad you’re here, Mommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert CaptainHoltPainnnnnn.gif
> 
> So, a couple things about this chapter:
> 
> 1) It hurts. 
> 
> 2) I headcanon that Kerry is actually a very cuddly person but that very strong personal and professional boundaries prevent her from doing so (at least at first). I headcanon this both because there is support of this in canon and also because I've learned that your co-workers can sometimes have no idea about that stuff? My evidence for that is that I worked somewhere for three years before anyone knew that I liked hugs. And I'm like... a _very_ huggy person.
> 
> 3) This chapter has way more block text than I'm comfortable with usually, but I let myself be a bit uncomfortable, because there was a lot of description to give in this chapter. Family is the main theme of just about everything I write, and this story is no different. As much as it is about Kerry's experience in what I'm lovingly referring to as Kerry Weaver's No Good, Very Bad Summer Vacation, it's about her family's experience too. Family is a system, and you can't change one thing in a system without changing other things in the system.
> 
> Anyway. This chapter hurt to write. I hope you also hurt reading it (but in a good way).
> 
> Until next time. 


	7. Rocket Man

Elton John

“Rocket Man (I Think It’s Gonna Be a Long, Long Time)”

_ Honky Chateau _(1972)

DJM Records (UK)

* * *

Michael tossed the latest issue of _ Amazing Spider-Man _ onto his nightstand _ . _ It landed with a flapping _ smack _ on top of the latest issues of _ Batman, Wonder Woman, _ and _ Daredevil. _

June 1st had brought a new batch of comics, but where typically he would pace himself, without school to distract him, he had already gone through all of the new ones he had bought and now had to wait another month to find out what happened next. 

He was just revisiting the idea of trying that new _ John Carter: Warlord of Mars _ series that he had seen at the comic store (and how he felt that the name ‘John Carter’ didn’t sound out of place as a businessman or a doctor) when he heard his mother’s voice call through the house.

“Michael? Are you here? If so, come here please.”

Michael sighed and rose from his desk. 

He found his mother Martha in the living room, hanging up her raincoat on the coat rack by the door and removing her plastic rain bonnet from her head. 

“Oh, good. You are here,” she said, dusting herself off. “I wanted to let you know that I just saw the Rothschilds and Mr. Rothschild said that he was looking for help washing dishes. He said he could pay you $2.50.”

“I don’t _ want _ to wash dishes at the Rothschilds’ deli,” Michael said “The place always reeks of sauerkraut.”

“What and you’re too good to smell like cabbage for two and a half bucks an hour? That’s seventy cents more than the minimum wage,” Martha said, raising an eyebrow at him. Then, she picked up her shopping back and started for the kitchen. “You need to do something with yourself this summer, Michael. And I doubt Henry Weaver is going to pay you to help build those models with him.”

Michael lit up at the thought.

“He might,” he said excitedly.

Martha raised a finger at him.

“You are _ forbidden _ from asking him that.”

As quickly as he lit up, Michael deflated. 

Martha passed him, setting her shopping bags down on the table and beginning to pull out the groceries. 

“You’ve gotta do something, Michael,” Martha commented, walking the groceries into the kitchen. 

Michael picked up some of the groceries and followed his mother into the kitchen to help put them away.

“What if I said I already have something to do?” 

Martha closed the refrigerator door and turned to look at him, her brow already raised. 

“Reading comic books doesn’t count.”

Michael shook his head and put set a box of Bisquick and two cans of soup on a shelf in the pantry. 

“I’m taking dinner over to Mrs. Lawson.”

He turned away from the pantry to find his mother watching him, arms crossed, with a skeptical but impressed look on her face. 

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

“And where did this come from?” Martha asked slowly. 

“Kerry Weaver told me to.”

“Oh? And you’ll do what Kerry Weaver tells you to, but you won’t do what _ I _ tell you to, huh?”

“She _ scares _ me, Ma,” Michael said sincerely.

“And what? I _ don’t _?” Martha asked, her brow now raised so high it nearly touched her hairline. “Well, I guess I certainly know which side your bread is buttered on, don’t I?”

Michael frowned. 

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Martha said, shaking her head and waving him away. 

Michael continued frown in confusion as he walked back to the dining room table to pick up more groceries. 

Was his mother implying that he had a crush on Kerry Weaver? And if so… why?

She was definitely his friend (well… he was _ pretty sure _ she was his friend. With her, it could sometimes be a bit hard to tell). And even though she seemed to be frustrated with him a lot, she never picked on him or made fun of him like some of the other girls in their grade did. Once, when she had overheard it, she’d even stood up for him. 

Did that constitute a crush? Michael didn’t really know. He had never really had crushes on girls before, and not just because they were unknown territory. He just… didn’t seem to think about them the way his friends seemed to. 

He had even snuck his father’s copy of the _ Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition _ back to his room once to see what the fuss was about and found himself even more confused than he was before. The girls looked nice enough, he supposed, but weren’t they cold in those little bathing suits? By the time he was done, he’d decided that he preferred the editions of the magazine when they showed pictures of the male athletes (even though he really wasn’t much of a sports fan much at all).

As far as girls went, he figured that Kerry probably was one of the prettiest. She had to be, right? Her hair was nice and she had a nice laugh and he liked her clothes. And since he liked that, that meant he was attracted to her… right? 

“So, this taking-Mrs.-Lawson-dinner thing that Kerry Weaver is making you do,” Martha said, jerking Michael out of his contemplation, “are you getting paid for it?”

“No. Kerry just said that she takes Mrs. Lawson dinner once a week and that she probably wouldn’t be able to this summer,” Michael answered with a shrug. “I don’t know why she can’t, but I told her I’d do it.”

Martha rolled her eyes and fixed him with a look. 

“Maybe because she’s going to be _ recovering?” _ Martha asked as if it was the clearest thing in the world. “From _ surgery? _”

Michael whipped around to look at her, great concern on his face. 

“Kerry had surgery? When?”

“On Monday,” Martha informed him, rolling her eyes again and resuming putting groceries in the fridge. “I thought you knew that.”

“No, I didn’t,” Michael stated, his brow furrowing further. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, yes. Henry called yesterday and let us know that everything went well and that she was home from the hospital.”

“She had to stay in the hospital?” Michael looked at Martha like he was just hearing this all for the first time (because he was). “Did her appendix burst or something?”

“No. It was something to do with her leg,” Martha said with a shrug. “Ask your father about it. He knows more than I do.”

Michael considered all this new information for a moment. 

Kerry had surgery on her leg? Did this mean she wasn’t going to need her crutch anymore? Given how much she seemed to dislike it, Michael would have thought that she would be overjoyed to tell him about the surgery. And yet, she hadn’t. 

This fact took him back to his original question: was she okay?

He glanced up at the clock, thinking about the fact that his father would be home from work soon, when he realized how late in the day it was. 

“I need to make something to take to Mrs. Lawson,” he thought aloud. “Kerry said she always went over around 6:30 pm.”

“And you’re just thinking about that _ now? _” Martha said with an exasperated sigh. “Then, you’d better get started.”

Michael nodded seriously. He thought through the options he had given his supply of groceries, his limited time frame, and his _ very _ limited cooking skills, and then proceeded to reach for the bag of bread on the counter and the peanut butter from the pantry.

As Martha realized what he was doing, she scoffed and snatched the bread away from him. 

“You _ cannot _take that old woman a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner.”

“I have to make her _ something _,” Michael said urgently. “Kerry said she doesn’t think Mrs. Lawson will eat if I don’t. And I don’t want her not to eat!”

Martha’s stern expression softened at the worry on her son’s face. What he lacked in athletic skills, he more than made up for in compassion. 

“I’ll help you make something nice to take her _ this _ time. But if you’re going to do this every week, then you need to learn how to cook.” A thought occurred to her. “Actually, how about this: you take her dinner _ three _ times a week and make sure her house is clean and I’ll pay you five dollars a week. Then you won’t have to smell like cabbage by working at the Rothschilds’ deli. Deal?”

As Michael bade goodbye to Mrs. Lawson and shut the door behind him, he wondered how on G-d’s Earth he was going to manage doing that three times a week. 

Kerry had mentioned that Mrs. Lawson had a hard time remembering things and that if she called him ‘Mitchell,’ he should just go with it. But that didn’t bother him as much as the fact that he might be the only person ever visiting her. She was too nice and kind to be alone like that. And she was too happy to see him, even though she had no idea who he was. 

No wonder Kerry liked visiting her. Michael had always had the distinct feeling that Kerry didn’t like to be alone nearly as much as she claimed to.

As he turned down the street in the direction of his house, he realized that the sun was setting. Since it was the beginning of June, it occurred to him just how long he had spent cleaning Mrs. Lawson’s house. 

He stopped outside of the Weavers’ house, preparing to look both ways and cross the road, when he noticed the light streaming out of the door to the garage. The lights in the rest of the house were off, so the fact that this one was on struck Michael as strange.

Automatically, he turned towards the house and walked up the driveway to the door. 

“Hello?” he asked quietly, peeking his head in the door. “Mr. Weaver?”

Henry, who was seated in a chair near his workbench, started. He looked around for a moment, trying to find the source of the voice, before he saw Michael peeking his head in.

“Oh. Michael. You startled me,” Henry said, taking a deep breath. He raised a hand towards the boy and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we’re not building anything tonight.”

“That’s okay. I just wanted to come by and see how Kerry was doing,” Michael said, stepping a bit further into the garage. 

“She’s doing alright,” Henry informed him. “Sore, but alright.”

Michael nodded. 

“And… how are you doing?” Michael asked slowly. 

Henry sighed and gave Michael a sad smile.

“I’m alright too. It’s just been a bit of a difficult week. Kerry is hurting which means Mildred is hurting, and it’s never easy for me when my girls are hurting.” Henry out let out another deep sigh. He shrugged. “But that’s the occupational hazard of empathy, I suppose.”

“What is?”

“Pain.”

Michael looked at him, confused. 

“I thought… I thought empathy was supposed to be a _ good _thing,” Michael said slowly. 

“Oh, it _ is _,” Henry said with a chuckle. “But it’s both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it means you get to care about other people and hopefully in doing so will receive care of your own. But it’s a curse too, because even when your own problems feel like they’re going to threaten you from within, they’re never the only problems in your head.” 

Michael continued to look confused, which earned him another chuckle from Henry. 

Henry waved Michael over. Michael stepped forward. He pulled an empty milk crate out from underneath the train table, flipped it over, and sat down. 

“After the war ended, I decided to stay in France for a few more months to help with the clean up,” Henry began. “I wanted to make sure that we got people back to their families, got roads cleared, all that. And though Millie was, let’s say, more than a little bit annoyed about that, she understood. 

“And after I got home, I remember we went to visit my parents. We went down to Michigan to see them. And I remember when we sat down for dinner, I told my parents about the mess that I saw and how much more than just loose artillery shells left over from all the fighting. There was illness and injury, hurt and loss, famine, hardship… all these things I wanted to fix. That I wanted to help with.

“And I remember my father just looked at me across the table and said, without batting an eye, ‘Well, those are their problems. We look after our own. They can look after theirs.’”

Henry sighed deeply, shaking his head at the memory still so clear in his mind. 

“I just couldn’t imagine. I just couldn’t _ imagine _ thinking that way. But that’s who my father was. He cared deeply, so long as the people he cared about were ‘his’ people. He gave to charity so long as it helped _ his _ people. He prayed for the sick so long as it was _ his _ sick. He never learned how to see beyond himself to care about people other than his own. And for that, I always pitied him. Because caring about others is one of the things that makes this life worth living. And if there’s anything that I pass on to my daughter, I hope it’s that.”

Henry paused for a moment and then looked at Michael, considering him closely.

“I think that’s why I like your dad so much. And why I like you,” Henry thought aloud. “A lot of men I know, a lot of men I care deeply about… They never learn how to care about other people. But you two… You two get it. You two care.

“Had I gone over to a young lady’s house to check on her, my father would have assumed that I had intentions of making her one of my own. And while I can’t say that _ isn’t _ one of your intentions...” Henry glanced at Michael over the rim of his glasses, a twinkle in his eye. “Even if it is, I know it’s not the only one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Carter _does_ seem like a good name for a doctor, doesn't it? 
> 
> I have to say that I really enjoying writing all the OCs in this, but I like Michael the most. Mostly because he's a good boy. He nice and he cares a lot and is generally all around a Very Nice Young Man. 
> 
> We've had two chapters focusing on other points of view, but we'll get back to Kerry here in the next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Until next time.


	8. Keep Yourself Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains discussion of depression and suicidality that may readers find triggering. 

Queen

“Keep Yourself Alive”

_ Queen _ (1973)

EMI Records (UK)

* * *

There were certain things that Kerry had learned not to talk about, even long before moving back to Minneapolis.

The first was the fact that she could dislocate her hip at will. 

She had learned this when she was about six or seven and, having had an interest in medicine and human anatomy even back then, she thought it was pretty neat. It didn’t hurt (usually), but it felt really weird. However, the adults in her life did _ not _ find it as neat as she did, as most people considered dislocating things to be a medical emergency. 

The second was pain.

Like the distinct realization that her parents were older than most parents were, she had had a distinct realization as a child that, to most people, pain was a temporary thing. Pain could be directly attributed to an illness or injury that would heal, and then the pain would go away. 

But, for Kerry, pain was just there. Some days she had almost no pain, some days she had _ a lot _ of pain, but for the most part, it was just normal pain. And she had stopped mentioning this because, since most people didn’t have a “normal” amount of pain, where dislocating something was met with concern(ed horror), pain was met with pity. 

All that being said… _ God _, did this hurt. 

Though accidentally bumping the fixator against things hurt like hell, the physical therapy was probably the worst. It consisted mostly of stretching and walking around, but nevertheless was acutely uncomfortable.

This was why Kerry was currently lying spread-eagled on the floor of the living room. She had laid down to go through the first set of the day, but hadn’t the energy to get back up. Perhaps had she been able to sleep much during the night or ate more food than the bare minimum her mother forced her to (much like you’d bargain with a toddler to take ‘three more bites’), she’d have had more energy. 

But even if she’d had the energy, depression had taken most of the will.

She heard the sound of the key in the lock of the front door and then felt footsteps. When they got near enough to her that she could sense someone’s presence, she opened her eyes to find her mother standing over her, looking down at her with a raised brow. 

“Wasn’t this the same position you were in when we left for church?”

“No.”

“Do you need help getting up?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Are you able to say anything other than ‘no’?”

Kerry narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe.”

Mildred shook her head and carefully stepped around Kerry to start down the hallway towards the master bedroom. But before Kerry could close her eyes again, she saw her father standing over her. 

“I thought of a joke for you while I was sitting in church. What did one disciple say to the other when Jesus fed the five thousand?”

Kerry stared up at him, waiting for him to go on. But Mildred Weaver was not the _ only _ parent that Kerry got her strong will from.

“Fine,” she said, letting out a sigh. “What?”

“‘Oh, sure, he can make all this food appear _ now _, but he couldn’t make his wallet appear when we were out at dinner the other night.’”

Kerry raised an eyebrow at him, which, given that he was looking at her upside down, made Henry chuckle. 

“Henry, I told you that joke wasn’t very funny,” Mildred said as she came back down the hall, now changed into appropriate loungewear. 

“Ernie Walters thought it was funny.”

“Well, Ernie Walters would probably finds the State of the Union address funny, so that’s not that high of praise.”

“Well, _ I _ think it’s high praise,” Henry muttered.

Mildred rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen. Henry removed his hat and hung it in the hall closet before stepping past Kerry and taking a seat on the sofa. 

“How ya feeling today, kiddo?”

“Tired.”

“You felt tired yesterday too,” Henry remarked. “So, feeling about the same as yesterday then? Or is there anything different about it?”

Kerry paused, considering. 

“_ Hot _ and tired.”

“It’s a nice day out,” Mildred said, walking around the sofa to stand over Kerry, a glass of water in her hand. “You could go outside. It feels much nicer out there than it feels in here.”

“I don’t want to go outside.”

“Not yet you don’t,” Henry agreed. “It’s a bit of a wreck right now. But Michael will be over in a little bit to mow. Then, you can go sit outside and enjoy the sun.”

“I don’t _ want _ to go outside,” Kerry repeated. 

“Fine. You don’t have to go outside, but you _ do _ have to drink this,” Mildred said, gently nudging Kerry’s shoulder with her foot. “Sit up.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to,” Mildred replied. “Now, please sit up.”

Kerry scowled, but did as she was told. Mildred handed her the glass of water and two Tylenol, which she took begrudgingly (though she knew it would make her feel better if she did). 

“Well, if you’re bored but you don’t want to go outside, I’ve got some things for you to do in here,” Mildred offered, taking a seat next to Henry on the couch.

“I’m not bored.”

“You’re not?” Mildred asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Kerry shook her head firmly.

Mildred often wondered if Kerry knew that she was a bad liar or if she honestly thought she was being convincing.

Kerry did everything in her power _ not _ to be bored, which meant filling her time with whatever she could. Studying, reading, practicing the flute, cleaning the house - she did anything and everything she could not to have a reason to sit down and do nothing. 

What Mildred didn’t know was that Kerry did this not out of a dislike of boredom but because if she sat around long enough without anything to do, there was nothing to distract her from her thoughts. 

It was like a radio signal, playing her thoughts on repeat at any and all hours of the day. Having things to do scrambled the signal. It created static. And as long as the signal was weak and full of static, she could focus on other things and not think about how much she wanted to die. 

Not _ actively _. Kerry was never actively suicidal. She never made any plans or obtained any means to go through with it. But she often felt that it was fine if she just ceased to exist. That if she went to bed and didn’t wake up in the morning, she’d be perfectly okay with it. 

The problem with wanting to fill her time with whatever she could (apart from the obvious mental illness it was covering up) was that, to everyone else, it was viewed as a positive thing. 

They liked hearing things like, “Oh, I’ll take care of that” or “I just like to stay busy” or (several years later) “Don’t worry about the JCAHO report that’s due next week. I already took care of it.”

To others, this was positive. It was _ productive. _ They had no reason to believe it was spurred on by anything other than strong internal motivation and a propensity for overachieving. 

And Kerry wasn’t going to be the one to tell them otherwise. 

Most of the meals made in the Weaver house as of late were high in important nutrients that assisted with bone growth and healing, but that didn’t necessarily make Kerry any more likely to eat it.

She was tired of eggs and tuna and leafy green vegetables. Her mother had made salmon and potatoes the week before, which had been a nice reprieve, but almost immediately, they returned to their regularly scheduled broccoli and navy beans. 

The only thing Kerry had _ not _ gotten sick of eating was cheese and that was purely because it was cheese. 

“You should go outside and sit in the sun for a while,” Mildred suggested after their mid-day meal. “Vitamin D. It’s good for you.”

“How do you know?” Kerry pushed back.

“Because Michael Sr. told us it was,” Mildred replied calmly, ignoring her daughter’s rudeness. “He said that Vitamin D helps calcium absorb in your bones. So, take a glass of milk and go sit outside.”

Kerry wanted to say that she didn’t want to, to argue and fight back against it, but she was too tired even to do that. 

So, she shrugged, relenting. Mildred held open one of the double doors to the backyard and Kerry (resentfully) started her way outside.

Like there were up the front porch and into the garage, there were two steps down from the back doors onto the lawn. And though she had used two crutches when she was young, it had been a while and it took her a second to remember how she was supposed to use them on stairs. 

Not wanting to get itchy from sitting on the grass, she stepped down onto the lawn and then promptly sat down on the stairs.

It was a nice day and the sun _ did _ feel good on her skin, but she was almost too numb to notice. She just stared blankly at the uncut grass, wondering about everything and, at the same time, nothing.

“Hey, Kerry!” 

She tensed involuntarily at the startling sound of the voice calling out to her. 

Worried that some of her classmates had been out walking around and had spotted her from afar, she readied herself to grab the crutches and flee back into the house (that having been her exact fear about leaving the house so far this summer). 

But it wasn’t random classmates intent on being mean, only a very sweaty Michael Levin. He opened the gate to the fence and backed in, pulling the Weavers’ lawnmower behind him. 

“How are you?” Michael asked, smiling and wiping at his forehead with his shirt sleeve. “It’s good to see you.”

“I don’t want you to see me,” Kerry hissed, unconsciously trying to pull her shorts down lower over her legs. “I want you to go away.”

“Well, I _ would _ ,” Michael said with a sigh “but your dad is paying me to mow the _ whole _ lawn and I’ve made it too far to stop now.”

“Well, then _ I’m _ going away,” she snapped.

She picked up the crutches from where they lay next to her and stood up, albeit slowly. 

“You need help?” he asked as she started up the back stairs. 

“No. Leave me alone.”

“Alright,” Michael said, raising his hands defensively. “Well, it _ is _good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

Though Michael had intended this to make her feel better, it only served to make Kerry feel worse. 

Michael missed her. That meant that Michael cared about her. And if he missed her that meant he wanted to see her but he didn’t, so she was letting him down. And if she let him down long enough, he would stop wanting to see her. And if he stopped wanting to see her, that meant he didn’t care about her anymore.

She didn’t want him to not care about her anymore. She wanted him to care about her _ a lot _ . Because she cared about _ him _ a lot. Even though she wasn’t good at telling him or showing him that, she _ did _. 

Because Kerry cared about _ everybody _ . A _ lot _.

That’s how her parents had raised her. Care about others. Serve others. We all belong to each other and we all belong to God. 

But caring about other people was _ hard _ . Not because it was difficult to care about them, but because sometimes she felt like she spent a lot of time caring about other people, but nobody cared about her back. And she feared that those who _ did _ care about her would stop caring about her. That she wouldn’t be good enough and they would just decide she wasn’t worth caring about anymore.

And as much as she tried to pretend that she _ didn’t _ care, that it was _ fine _ if other people didn’t care about her and she didn’t _ want _ them to, it wasn’t. 

And it never would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooookay. Pretty heavy stuff here. And by pretty I mean this was a fucking heavy chapter, so I want to take a moment and unpack this. 
> 
> First of all, if it is not exceptionally clear already, Kerry has clinical depression. She had a depressed mood, decrease in appetite, insomnia, fatigue, feelings of worthlessness, excessive, or inappropriate guilt, and recurrent thoughts of death. As this has lasted for two weeks, it constitutes major depressive episode, though some of the symptoms have occurred for longer than that. As well, in children and adolescents, the depressed mood can also present as irritability. (And if it sounds like I'm reading from the _DSM, _it's because I am.)
> 
> Second of all, the goal of this chapter is to give a glimpse of how her mind works and a little bit of how her recognizable behaviors could be explained by her thought processes. Though I cannot explain her future backstabbing behaviors from this, I can explain her propensity to overachieve. The busier she is, the more she can distract herself from her feelings and her passive suicidality, which I headcanon to occur mostly in her youth but also during tumultuous times and events in the future. 
> 
> Third of all, the overarching theme of this chapter - and of this fic in general - is caring. Kerry is a character that cares deeply about things. Whether it is details, procedures, or people, she cares a lot. But, as you know from her character, caring about things is not always positive. Caring is a double-edged sword and there definitely is such a thing as caring too much. That's why I get frustrated when people joke about their biggest flaw being that they "care too much," because it's really not a joke. Deeply empathetic and caring people are more likely to have issues with depression and anxiety. Kerry Weaver does a very good job at pretending she doesn't care about things, when in fact, she cares very deeply about them. While that doesn't always lead to the _best_ decisions, it is nonetheless a driving force of her character and this is a hill I _will_ die on. 
> 
> Now, given that this is my fic, I am willing to defend all of this analysis. However, interpretation is at the discretion of the consumer, so you might read all this and think, "wow, this way out of character and I don't agree with this at all." And that very well could be, and if you feel this way, feel free to let me know. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Until next time.


	9. The Sound of Silence

Simon & Garfunkel

“The Sound of Silence”

_ The Graduate  _ (1968)

Columbia Masterworks

* * *

If the Weavers hadn’t already suspected Kerry felt worse this summer than she had in years past, the deafening silence of their house would have clued them in. 

The turntable and radio that both sat on the shelves of Kerry’s room had been collecting dust for weeks now. And though neither of her parents particularly  _ enjoyed _ the music that typically emanated from her bedroom, they much preferred it to the quiet that had taken over. 

Mildred knocked gently on Kerry’s bedroom door. There was no response so she tried again.

When there was still no reply, she opened the door just a crack and was greeted with stuffy darkness. 

“Kerry?” she whispered into the darkness. “You awake, honey?”

“No.”

Mildred shook her head and exhaled deeply.

She stepped further into the room and took a tentative step off to her right in the direction of Kerry’s desk. She fumbled for the lamp for a moment, before she located the switch and a soft light filled the room. 

“ _ Mom _ ,” Kerry hissed, covering her eyes. “I was  _ sleeping _ .”

“If you’d been asleep, you wouldn’t have answered me,” Mildred said simply, taking a seat at the foot of Kerry’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Kerry grumbled. Her voice was muffled slightly by the continued presence of her hands over face. “Please leave me alone.”

Mildred heaved another sigh.

“We’re having dinner with the Levins tonight,” she said quietly. 

“Okay.”

“That means you too. “

Kerry’s hands slid from her face. She fixed her mother with the same irritation she addressed just about everything with now. 

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, dear,” Mildred said, stroking Kerry’s calf gently. “But it’s Michael Sr.’s birthday. They want us to come celebrate with them. And that includes you. They… they miss you, hon .”

Mildred wanted very badly to add that she and Henry missed her too, but she didn’t.

“I...don’t… want… to… go,” Kerry said, enunciating each word separately and through gritted teeth. 

“We haven’t made you go out at all other than to your appointments,” Mildred said, frustration creeping into her tone, though she had been trying hard not to let it. “You haven’t left the house in a month-and-a-half. And that’s fine, dear. But… but this once. We want you to come with us. It’ll just be a little while.”

Kerry shook her head. 

“Just for dinner. Just come for dinner and then you can go home.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Well, I’m sorry, dear, but this time, it’s not negotiable. We’re leaving in an hour.” 

Kerry covered her face with her hands again, but did not argue further. Mildred sighed deeply, her heart torn between not wanting to make Kerry feel worse, but also believing it would do her good to get out a little bit. 

There was a muffled sound from behind Kerry’s hands. 

“What was that, dear?” Mildred asked, frowning. “I couldn’t understand you.”

Kerry dragged her hands down her face. 

“I don’t want to put on a bra,” she said in a voice almost like a grunt.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to wear a bra,” Mildred replied, throwing up her hands in defense. “But I do ask that you at least brush your hair and put on a different shirt.”

Though Mildred did not enjoy how often her daughter seemed irritable or frustrated, the fact that Kerry had stopped bothering to argue further when they disagreed was yet another clue as to how much had changed even in the past six weeks. 

Mildred sighed, and patted Kerry gently on the foot before she rose from the bed. 

She stopped at the desk to turn the lamp back off before crossing to the open bedroom. But when she reached it, she paused. 

“We love you, dear. Your father and I… we love you very much.”

“I know.”

“Alright,” Mildred said rather quickly, stopping her frustration from rising once again at the callousness of Kerry’s tone. “I just… I just wanted to make sure.”

The irony of the t-shirt plastered with a big, yellow smiley face that she had pulled randomly from her dresser was not lost on Kerry, but she didn’t bother to change it. 

She figured that if people though it was representative of her mood, all they had to do was look at her face. (And if they still couldn’t figure it out, she’d let them know.)

Though she dragged her feet about getting up, both physically and metaphorically, it  _ did _ feel good to do so. She still refused to put on a bra, but she combed her hair, brushed her teeth, and changed into a different outfit. The clean pair of athletic shorts (which had been purchased specifically for this summer) even reached her knees, meaning that they  _ just _ covered the end of the fixator on her left leg. 

However, any potentially positive feelings that came from cleaning herself up a bit were dashed almost the moment she and her parents stepped out the door. 

Immediately, anxiety flooded her system. And though she hadn’t been able to feel much at all in the way of emotion over the past several weeks, she could _definitely _feel that. 

Paranoia, embarrassment, shame - all the biggest and best players at the game had come to visit, swarming her head and threatening to overwhelm her with worry in just the roughly two minutes it took the Weavers to cross the street towards the Levins’ house.

“Oh, good! You’re all here. That makes everyone. Wonderful, wonderful,” Martha Levin greeted them a moment after Henry knocked on the door. “Come in, come in. Can I get you something to drink?”

She was handing Mildred a glass of wine before the woman had even had time to answer and was ushering Mildred and Henry further into the house for something stronger before they had time to process walking in.

Kerry hung back, eyeing the place for somewhere to make a quick getaway when someone tall and olive-skinned appeared in front of her. 

“Hey! You’re here!” Michael said excitedly, his face lighting up even in light of her scowl. “My parents said you guys were coming but I didn’t think that meant you. But that’s great. I’m glad you’re here.”

He looked for a moment like he might try and step forward to hug her, but he paused and then took a step back. The smile on his face didn’t waver. 

“Also,” Michael said, dropping his voice, “if you want a glass of wine, my mom will totally give you one. It’s good stuff too. I just had a glass.”

“You’re not old enough to drink,” Kerry said, frowning. 

“Eh, I’ll be eighteen next December,” he said with a shrug. “What’s a year-and-a-half?”

Kerry’s eyes narrowed like she wanted to reprimand him, but she didn’t. 

“So, how have you been? How do you feel?” he asked, stepping into the sitting area to the right of the door and ushering her forward. 

Kerry followed him into the sitting area and sat down in one of the armchairs, noting how much quieter it was in here as Martha ushered all the adults into the kitchen and then to their patio in the back.

“I’m fine.”

“Is it… Would it be… Can I ask how your leg is?” 

“It’s fine.”

“It it… growing?” 

Kerry’s eyes moved from the wall ahead of her to Michael’s. She fixed him with an exasperated look. 

“ _ Yes _ .” At his continued look of interest, Kerry rolled her eyes and then looked down at her fingernails. “I went to the doctor yesterday and it’s almost an inch-and-a-half.”

“Well, that’s great, right?” Michael asked enthusiastically. “Isn’t the goal two? So, that means you’re almost there, right? And you’ll get it off soon?”

“It should be the right length by the end of the month,” Kerry muttered. “But it has to stay on for another month after that to let the bone heal.”

Michael nodded. 

“Well, it’s good it’s working then,” he remarked. “And that it’s getting to the  _ right  _ length.”

Kerry’s brow furrowed at the emphasis on the word, which only made Michael’s smile grow broader.

“What?”

“The  _ right _ length. It’s getting to the  _ right  _ length…. To the same length… as the… right one? As your… right...” Michael’s voice trailed off at her continued confusion. “No? Okay.”

Kerry continued to stare at him, brow furrowed, when two junior-high aged boys burst into the room.

“Michael, can we go in your room?”

The boys and Kerry all looked to Michael, who rolled his eyes. 

“ _ No _ ,” Michael said, sighing. “I thought I told you to go outside.”

“We did go outside,” one of the boys replied. 

“But it’s  _ hot _ outside,” the other boy finished. 

“Well, you  _ can’t _ play in my room,” Michael stated. 

One of the boys looked like he was going to whine about it, but the other boy seemed to notice Kerry’s presence. 

“Who is she? Who are you?” the boy asked, looking from Kerry to Michael and back. 

“This is my friend, Kerry,” Michael explained. “She lives across the street.”

One of the boys leaned forward to look out the front window while the other stepped sideways to look at Kerry better.

“Do you live in the yellow house?” the window-looker asked, before turning back to them. “Is that you wore that shirt? Because it matches your house?”

“What are those for?” the side-stepper asked, pointing to the crutches Kerry had leaned against the arm of the chair. “And what’s that on your leg? Can I touch it?”

“ _ No _ ,” Kerry snapped, one hand immediately hovering over the fixator in protection and the other raised and ready to swat. 

“Not cool, dude,” Michael said, rising from his chair and backing the boys away from the sitting area. “Now leave or you don’t get to go see the movie tonight.”

Immediately, both boys turned on Michael, their eyes and hands pleading. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” the boy closest to Kerry said quickly. (She had no idea which one this one as they were indistinguishable from each other.) “Mama already said we could go!”

“Yeah, and since I’m the one taking you, then I get to say if you  _ don’t _ go,” Michael said. “Now, go back outside.  _ Now _ .”

The boys both wore the same expression (a mix of ‘beseeching’, ‘resentful’, and ‘mutinous’), but obviously had too much on the line to disagree with him further. So, they just cast both teenagers dark looks and sped back outside. 

Kerry and Michael watched them for a moment. Through the glass-paneled doors, they could see the two boys energetically running around all the grown-ups. One even did ran straight into the back fence, bounced off, and then kept on running.

“Sorry about them. Isaac and Jacob Roth. They go to temple with us,” Michael explained, sitting back down on the couch. “And they’re twins. If you couldn’t tell.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Michael chuckled at the sarcasm in her voice, pleased to hear in it something other than frustration for the first time in a long while. 

“They’re usually not this bad. Honestly, for kids, they’re pretty calm,” Michael said, waving towards the backyard. “But the rest of the kids that were invited couldn’t come because of soccer or baseball or because they’re away at camp, so they’re the only ones here. And my dad took pity on them and gave them Coke. And though it was, you know, the soft drink and not the hard drug, it feels like it’s acting the same away.”

Kerry didn’t laugh at the joke, but Michael could have sworn that he saw her expression soften  _ just _ so.

“What movie are you going to see?” 

Michael lit up with unexpected enthusiasm for such a simple question.

“ _ Star Wars _ ,” he said excitedly. “Have you- I guess you probably haven’t seen it, have you?”

Kerry shook her head. 

“Oh, you should. It’s… It is just  _ so _ good,” Michael said, his voice toned with awe. “I’ve already seen it twice since it came out.”

“And you’re seeing it again?” Kerry asked, concerned. 

“It is  _ that good _ ,” Michael said seriously. “It’s about this kid who fights in a space war. And the graphics are just… Kerry, I’ve never seen anything like ‘em. It’s just incredible.”

Michael spoke with such passion that it almost made Kerry want to see it. 

But she was just considering  _ maybe _ asking him if she could go with him and the boys, she thought about the idea of actually going to a movie theatre and the emotions that had flooded her while walking across the street earlier threatened to return en force.

Michael seemed to sense this, as he was about to ask her if she wanted to join them, but decided not to.

So, he changed the subject.

“Mrs. Lawson says hi.”

Kerry jerked out of her thoughts at this. She sat up straighter.

“She did?”

“Well.... she said to ‘say hi to Patricia’ for her, so I figured that was you.”

Kerry nodded, sinking back into her chair.

“I see her three times a week now,” Michael continued, wanting to keep the conversation going. “Yeah, it’s… it’s kind of my summer job now. My mom gives me a little bit of money if I cook Mrs. Lawson dinner and help keep her house clean.”

Kerry nodded again. 

_ God, _ she missed Mrs. Lawson. There had been a few days lately when she had been feeling a bit better that she had thought about going over, but every time she felt like she might be ready to go outside, panic set in and kept her in place. 

“That’s good,” she said quietly. “I’m… glad.”

Michael nodded. Then, he straightened up, remembering something. 

“Give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

Kerry didn’t have time to say anything (nor would she probably have done so) before he rose from his chair and darted off for his bedroom.

He returned a minute later holding several thick, heavy-looking books. 

“I was cleaning the basement the other day,” he said, setting the books down carefully on the coffee table and resuming his seat, “and I found a bunch of my dad’s old medical textbooks. I’ve been looking through some of them, and they’re pretty neat. I thought you might like them.”

He picked up a random book from the table and held it out to her. She took it, her curiosity getting the better of her.

After a moment of silence, Michael looked up from the book he had been flipping through to find Kerry still staring at the cover of the book.

“What’s wrong?”

“Michael, this isn’t funny.”

Michael frowned. She turned the book around:  _ Surgical Technique and Instruction _ . 

“I just picked a random one up, I swear,” he said, his eyes growing wide. “You have to believe me. I  _ swear _ .”

Kerry did believe him, but she had to admit it was a little bit fun to watch him squirm, and even more so when he started reading the covers of the books to find an alternative. 

“We’ve got other ones,” he said quickly. “Uh… there’s  _ Foundations of Disease _ or- or…  _ Clinical Pathology of the Human Body _ … or....  _ Introduction to Obstetrics and Gynecology _ ?”

She sat  _ Surgical Technique and Instruction _ back down on the coffee table and watched with some interest as Michael chose the last book to skim through. He flipped through and then stopped at some page she could not see. 

She watched his brow furrow in confusion and his eyes grow even wider before he snapped the book shut and looked up at her. (She didn’t know if this had been sincere or if he had done so for her amusement, but either way, she appreciated it.)

“Michael? Kerry? The food is just about done if you’d like to come out and join us please,” they heard Martha call from the back of the house. 

Michael sat the books back down and then stood up. He offered a hand to Kerry, who just sat there for a moment, as she needed an extra second to steele herself before joining the rest of the gathered group for dinner. 

“I’m just staying for dinner,” she found herself saying out loud, more to herself than to Michael.

Michael’s face fell slightly, but he did well not to show it.

“That’s too bad,” he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. “But, even so, I’m glad you’re here. When I told you earlier this summer that I missed you, I wasn’t kidding.”

Kerry nodded and took his offered hand to stand up. 

She wasn’t through this, she knew, but she also knew he wasn’t kidding. 

She had missed herself too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I amend my previous note to say that it's not just Major Depressive Disorder, but rather Persistent Depressive Disorder (Dysthymia) because symptoms have lasted for over a year, but do not constitute one whole episode for an entire year. (Aka I just did my homework and I realized I was wrong. Bear with me. I've only been in this class for a few weeks.)
> 
> Things are starting to look up a little? Yeah? It ebbs and flows a bit things are a little bit better than they were in the last chapter.
> 
> But, as it says, she isn't through this. There are still some things to come. And to that I will just say... Until next time.


	10. S.O.S

ABBA

“S.O.S”

_ ABBA  _ (1975)

Atlantic Records (US)

* * *

The weatherman patted his brow with a handkerchief.

“So, keep your fans blowing, folks, because it’s gearing up to be another hot one,” he said to the camera as if none of the viewers at home could see him sweating through his shirt collar. “That’s all for weather. Back to you, Jan.”

“Thank you, Chip,” the anchorwoman said as the camera switched back to her. “Now, in national news, House Committees convened earlier this week to continue budget deliberations regarding the passage of Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act. You may recall earlier this year when disability rights activists took over federal buildings across the country in response to the Carter Administration’s decision to amend the bill prior to signing it. 

“We now go live to our DC correspondent, Bill Broadwell, who is reporting live from Capitol Hill. Bill, tell us...What have members of the House been saying as they determine how to budget for the requirements of this new legis-”

The screen switched to Bill Broadwell, DC Correspondent, for a very brief moment before the channel changed and the reporter was replaced with a rerun of  _ M*A*S*H _ .

Kerry had no interest in listening to the news or anyone else debate her humanity today, and she  _ really _ had no interest in knowing what her elected officials had to say about it.

Section 504 had been one of the first pieces of federal legislation that included language preventing discrimination on the basis of disability. While legislation to codify it further as well as remove active barriers to full participation in society would not exist for another thirteen years , it was definitely a move in the right direction.

The ten days when protestors of all races, genders, and abilities had peacefully occupied ten federal buildings across the country had impacted Kerry in a way she hadn’t quite realized yet. Certain commentary (most of which came from her peers) aside, it had been the first time she had seen disabled people publicly proud of who they were and had, at least briefly, made her feel proud of who she was too. 

Kerry watched an exchange between Hawkeye and Klinger for a moment, wondering what it would like to  _ really _ be an army doctor in a war zone, before she sighed deeply. There was another  _ click _ and the screen went black. 

She dropped the remote on the floor and looked up towards the ceiling. 

Without the television on, the house was far too quiet. 

Her parents and the Levins had gone out for dinner and to see a concert this evening. She and Michael had been invited to go with, but Michael had something else to do and she was still reluctant to leave the house. 

July had faded into August, which meant that school was on the horizon. This meant she had two things to look forward to in the last month of a summer that both felt incredibly fast and excruciatingly long: surgery to remove the external fixator scheduled for the end of the month and the summer homework assignment she had uncharacteristically been putting off all summer. 

The AP US Government assignment was a Current Events assignment like she had ended AP US History with the previous school year, and would therefore be easy enough to complete. The Honors English Eleven assignment, however, would require her to read three books and then write a 5-7 page essay about one of them. (Though this was typically pretty easy for Kerry, the idea of having to do all that work after not having done much of anything made her realize why “Honors English 11” could be shortened to “hell.”)

She considered this as an option to fill the next few hours before her parents got home, but, just as she had every other time she’d considered it so far, she decided not to. She did, however, reluctantly pull herself into a standing position with the intention of finding something  _ else _ to do with her time.

Kerry had made two passes between the kitchen, the living room, and her bedroom before she found herself wandering out into the garage. 

The space center that her father and Michael had been building for two months was nearly complete. It sat on the previously empty corner of the train table, surrounded by bottles of paint and (clean) paintbrushes. 

Kerry sat down at her father’s workbench, and from her perch on the stool therein could see the side that had been worked on most recently. And though she had not yet seen  _ Star Wars _ , she had a feeling some of the…  _ elements _ that had been added to the space center might have been influenced by it. 

Smirking slightly to herself, she turned away from the train table towards the workbench. 

It was almost more of a drafting table than a workbench, given the numerous pieces of graph paper and half-sketched designs scattered across it, but there were some assorted tools as well as a neatly organized collection of paint bottles hanging on the shelf above it. 

On a whim, she grabbed a few bottles off the shelf and cleared off a space on the table in front of her. She found a blank piece of paper, onto which she squirted a little bit of paint and began swirling it around with a nearby paintbrush. 

Others with the same sort of keen analytical mind Kerry possessed might have found creative endeavours like painting hard to understand, but not Kerry. It may have been due to watching skilled craftsmen create their art in her childhood or the fact that her father, who also had a keen analytical mind like she did, happened to be the most creative person she knew. (But mostly, it was because she thought it was fun and  _ boy _ did she need something fun.)

She had nearly exhausted the first round of paint, having drawn the little dots out into long flowing lines. But the second bottle of paint was not as forthcoming with its contents. That was, until she applied enough pressure behind the stoppage and made it burst forth not onto the paper as intended, but onto her thigh.

“ _ Dammit _ ,” she cursed, grateful her parents hadn’t been around to hear it.

Kerry looked around for a paper towel or rag, but there was nothing within arm’s reach, and standing up to get one would only make the paint drip further. 

In her search, she forgot the paintbrush loose in her hand. It dragged across the blotch of paint, leaving a long blue streak across the top of her right leg. When she noticed the new development, she began to curse under her breath, but stopped. 

The way the streak curved made it almost look like the petal of a tulip. 

Without thinking, she righted the paintbrush in her hand and made another stroke in the opposite direction, meeting the first to create a wide “U” shape. A few more strokes and a little bit of filling in and there was a blue flower where there had previously been a glob of paint. 

Kerry picked up another one of the paint bottles, a green one this time, and dripped it underneath the tulip head. A few more strokes and the tulip had a stem and some leaves.

Now, her rational brain would ordinarily have told her off in doing this, reminding her that she was painting on  _ herself _ and that that wasn’t a good idea (not the least of which involved her having to take  _ another _ shower that day). However, her rational brain was still pretty buried beneath a summer’s worth of pain, anxiety, and depression, and not even  _ it _ could deny itself a little bit of serotonin should it present itself. 

She continued this longer than she realized, painting little designs onto her bare skin, every so often changing up the color to add some variety. She even did a few on the inside of her left leg (away from the fixator and incision). 

She did this for so long that she forgot all of her troubles. Every part of her mind was engrossed in these little colorful images she was painting on her legs that everything else was lost to the Universe. The troubles weren’t hers, if only for a little while.

But, as happens with any little moment of blissful distraction, the troubles are quick to find their way back into focus. And, in Kerry’s case, into her garage.

“Hello? Anyone home? I need help!”

She looked up from the painting the whiskers of a cat on her right knee to see Michael burst in the garage door. He was breathing heavy and nearly ran right past her and into the house.

“ _ Michael! _ ” she called out loudly, her moment of bliss fading as she frowned at him. “You can’t just go into my house. What’s wrong?”

Michael jerked around at the sound of her voice before he ran back around the perimeter of the garage towards her.

“Kerry, are your parents here?”

“No, they’re out with  _ your _ parents, remember?” she said quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s… Mrs… Lawson…” he said, breathing hard. “I… I can’t get her to wake up.”

Kerry dropped the paintbrush in her hand, which clattered to the floor, leaving purple streaks on the cement. 

“What do you mean she won’t wake up?”

“I went over to take her dinner… and she was in bed. She doesn’t seem to be making much sense and she doesn’t seem to know I’m there and-”

The rest of his explanation was cut short as Kerry slid off the stool, threaded her arms through her crutches, and then (not so) gently used one of them to urge him in the right direction.

“Go,” she ordered, already starting to move past him. “Go. _ Now _ .”

The front door to Mrs. Lawson’s house was still open when Michael and Kerry arrived. 

Michael ran in first, Kerry following behind him as fast as she could (tapping into the speed she’d used as a kid to beat the other kids in games during play times). 

He led her down the hallway and into the master bedroom. 

“Mrs. Lawson? Mrs. Lawson?” Kerry asked quickly, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, and moving Mrs. Lawson’s leg gently with her hand. “Can you hear me?”

There was only a gurgling response in reply. 

Kerry leaned forward and looked at Mrs. Lawson’s face closer. 

The elderly woman’s face was pale, but her lips were a deathly shade of blue. She lay on her back, looking up at the ceiling. Her pupils were enlarged, which was almost hard to tell as she seemed to be looking back and forth at things that weren’t there. 

“What do you think it is?” Michael asked, peering over Kerry at Mrs. Lawson.

“I don’t know,” Kerry snapped at him. “Maybe she… I don’t know.”

She looked around frantically for something,  _ anything _ that might point to what had happened. And for a moment, she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

There were clothes laid out on the back of a chair, shoes lined up near the closet, pill bottles on the dresser.

Kerry had scanned past the bottles before snapping her attention back to them. 

“Has she been taking her medicine?” she asked, rising from the bed and crossing to the bottles, which she started picking up and observing closely. 

“Uh… I think so?” Michael said, his tone full of doubt. “I try and set stuff up for her. And-and she always said that she takes the white one three times a day.”

Kerry looked up at Michael, her eyes wide with both fear and confusion. 

“She said that?”

“Yeah. And she should, right? The white one is her heart pill. She’s supposed to take it three times a day,” Michael said, nodded seriously. At her silence, his expression grew as fearful and confused as hers. “Why? Is that wrong?”

Kerry looked back down at the bottles on the dresser, holding each one up so she could see the pills inside them. It took a moment to go through all of them, but then she found the bone-chilling answer she was looking for.

“There are two white ones.”

Michael and Kerry both froze, staring at each other. Though she knew they were losing time, it took her heart a moment to unclench enough to let her breathe

“I’ll count, you call,” she ordered, unscrewing the lid of one of the bottles and dumping it out on the top of the dresser.

“Call? Call who? Our parents?” 

“9-1-1, you  _ idiot _ .” 

Michael nodded again and looked around the room for a phone. When he found none, he shot out the door and down the hall towards the kitchen. 

Kerry grabbed a metal nail file and started separating the tablets into groups of five, counting them off under her breath. 

“ 65… 70… 75…80… 83, 84, 85, 86… 86 of the Lasix.” She repeated the process with the other bottle and, even without immediately knowing how many, she knew it was far less than she was supposed to have taken. “10...15...20...21.”

Kerry held up both bottles to read their labels. Both had been filled just the Friday before. 

She counted in her head. 

They had been filled on Friday. Assuming she had been out and that the prescriptions had been presumably dropped off before Michael observed Shabbat, then Mrs. Lawson would have taken ten pills between then and now. 

She looked at the non-Lasix bottle, turning it over in her hand until she could see the drug name on the label: Valium.

Little known to her, Kerry was witnessing her first drug overdose. But, at least this time, there was nothing she could do about it.

“She took too many of her Valium,” Kerry shouted down the hall. “It says they’re for ‘anxiety or seizures.’”

Did Mrs. Lawson even  _ have  _ either of those things?

“They want to know if she’s still breathing,” Michael called from the living room (having pulled the phone cord as far as it would go). “Can you check?”

Kerry dropped the bottles at once, not bothering to return the tablets to their containers, before she turned back to the bed. 

As she leaned forward to check if Mrs. Lawson was still breathing, she automatically slipped her hand into the old woman’s. Her skin was cold and clammy, but she gripped Kerry’s hand hard. 

“Patricia,” Mrs. Lawson mumbled, her words garbled and hard to understand. “Patricia, is that you?”

“Y-yes,” Kerry croaked. She nodded as sincerely as she could, ignoring the wetness sliding down her cheeks as she did so. “Y-yes, I’m h-h-here.”

“Patricia,” Mrs. Lawson whispered. “Patricia.”

“Yes, yes. It’s me,” Kerry said, nodding even faster. “It’s… It’s me. I’m here.”

Mrs. Lawson’s breath was growing shallower, and Kerry’s task to check on it forgotten as she squeezed the woman’s hand. 

“Patricia…”

Kerry took Mrs. Lawson’s hand in both of her own, her words lost to the nods and the tears. 

The breaths were growing fewer and farther between, but the grip on Kerry’s hand had not relaxed a bit. 

Mrs. Lawson blinked a few times, her eyelids threatening to flutter shut. But before they did, she turned her head just slightly towards Kerry. Her eyes focused on the girl for a brief moment. 

“Patricia,” Mrs. Lawson breathed. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Kerry said in a voice barely louder than the old woman’s. “I’m here now. You can’t go yet.”

“I’ve been waiting to see you again,” Mrs. Lawson said, a small smile on the corner of her lips. “It’s been so… long…”

Michael, not having received his answer, burst into the room. 

“Did you hear me?” he asked, breathing hard as he looked between the old woman in the bed and the much, much younger woman sitting next to her. “Can you check if she’s still breathing?”

Kerry didn’t process his question for a moment. She was too busy replaying Mrs. Lawson’s words in her head. Words said to her, but meant for someone else. 

“Kerry, check if she’s breathing,” Michael commanded in a tone so unlike his own. 

Kerry sighed deeply, and raised a hand. It hovered over Mrs. Lawson’s mouth for a moment, waiting to feel the woman’s breath on her hand, but none came.

She shook her head.

“O-Okay,” Michael said quickly. “I’ll go tell ‘em that. You… I guess… Do you know CPR?”

When she shook her head again, Michael turned and flew back down the hallway. 

Even if she had known had to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation, she didn’t think it would have been any use and the paramedics that arrived a short while later agreed with her. 

When they saw Kerry holding the old woman’s hand, they seemed to expect to have to pry Kerry’s fingers out of her grip, but they didn’t need to. Her fingers were cold, but not yet any stiffer than arthritis had already rendered them. 

But even if enough time had passed for rigor mortis to begin to set it, it didn’t matter. Mrs. Lawson had already let go, even before she died. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a twist, eh? Hopefully, not _too_ out of left field. There were a few minor hints at least, though it would have probably not been conencted to something like this. 
> 
> Anyways, not much else to say other than that I am basically incapable of writing a story that does not feature at least one (1) character death. Sorry. 
> 
> Until next time.


	11. Teach Your Children

Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young

“Teach Your Children”

_ Déjà Vu  _ (1970)

Atlantic Records

* * *

Though the event had taken place down the street from the house and not along the side of the freeway, Mrs. Lawson’s death had earned its fair share of rubberneckers. And while not many of them had actually known her in life, red and blue lights always served as a beacon to draw everyone out to know the deceased in death.

The paramedics spent twenty minutes trying to revive Mrs. Lawson to no avail. When Kerry explained the woman’s memory issues and pointed out the mixed-up medication, they nodded solemnly and, unless Kerry was mistaken, exchanged the tiniest of knowing glances. (Even if it was  _ her _ first experience with accidental overdose, it didn’t mean it was everybody's.)

Once their questions had been answered, the paramedics ushered Michael and Kerry away from the bedroom and into the living room The pair were preparing to walk outside and join the throng of other neighbors that had gathered on their lawns when a police officer stopped them at the door.

“You two the kids that called?” he asked, stepping forward towards them and forcing them to step back. 

Kerry and Michael both nodded.

“Have a seat,” he instructed in a tone that heavily implied they didn’t have a choice. “I’ve got questions for you.”

“We already talked to the paramedics,” Kerry stated. “They can tell you what we said.”

Kerry made to take another step forward towards the door, but one look from the officer stopped her.

“Sit down,” the officer repeated. “Now.”

The teenagers did as they were told. 

They watched silently as the officer made his way to where the paramedics remained in Mrs. Lawson’s bedrooms. In his absence, Michael turned to Kerry, his mouth open to say something, but she just made pointed eye contact with him and shook her head. 

The officer returned a few minutes later, his expression unreadable.

“Paramedics said that you came to check on the deceased and bring her dinner. That’s when you found something was wrong and called 9-1-1. Yes?”

Kerry and Michael nodded.

“And you told the paramedics that she overdosed on her medications. Is that right?”

They nodded again. 

“And how did you know that she had overdosed? Did you see her take the pills or…”

Kerry opened her mouth to explain how they had figured it out by looking at her bottles, but just as she did so, a tiny voice in the back of Kerry’s head spoke up.

_ Don’t answer him. _

She closed her mouth and frowned, her brain working overtime to try and figure out where that particular thought had come from. 

“Well, we-” Michael cut himself off when Kerry laid a hand on his knee. “What?”

“I want my mom and dad.”

Michael and the officer both frowned at her, albeit for different reasons. Michael was trying to figure out where this had come from while the officer was trying to figure out if the girl in front of him was of sound enough mind to answer his questions. 

“Why?” Michael questioned quietly (though he did not doubt for one second that Kerry had a perfectly reasonable reason for requesting it.)

“I just…” Kerry turned from him to look up at the officer. “I’m not going to answer any questions unless my parents are here.”

The police officer considered her for a moment and then gave her a fatherly smile. He let out a familial chuckle.

“It’s okay, hon. You’re not in any trouble,” he assured her. “I’m just asking you some questions. It’ll only take a few minutes and then you and your boyfriend here can get on home.”

“I’m not answering any questions unless my parents are here,” Kerry repeated in a firmer tone. 

Immediately, the smile slid from the officer’s face.

“Look, kid,” he said sternly, “all you have to do is answer the questions and then you can go home.”

“So, we can’t go home  _ now _ ?” 

The officer’s expression hardened as he mistook her question for sass. 

“You can go home after you answer my questions,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Now, tell me: Did you see her take the pills?”

Kerry was ready to repeat her assertion that she was not going to answer any questions without her parents there when something clicked in Michael’s head. 

“Wait… Did you just say that we can’t leave?”

“Oh my  _ God _ . You kids slow or something?” the officer said, exasperated. “ _ No _ . You can leave  _ after  _ you answer my questions.”

“Then, I want my mom,” Michael said with an air of finality.

“ _ Great _ . You want your mom and she wants her parents. We’ll get them over here and then can all have a have a big, fun, family outing and we’ll-”

“That means I want to speak to my attorney.”

The officer, who had been starting a sarcastic tirade, froze. He lowered his hands slowly, and then observed Michael carefully. 

“Kid, this isn’t a cop show,” the police officer said flatly. “Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not playing games. I want to speak to my attorney,” Michael said, pulling himself up to full (sitting) height. “And invoke my right to remain silent.”

He crossed his arms in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kerry watching him and gave her a very small nod of encouragement, willing his expression to remain serious and not lapse into pride at how impressed she looked. 

“Me too,” Kerry stated, she too sitting up straighter. “I invoke my right to remain silent.”

The police officer inhaled deeply through his nose and then shook his head slowly. 

“Really? All this? We coulda been  _ done _ by now.” He let out a deep sigh and then shrugged. “Well, kids… if you wanna play like this is a cop show, then we’ll treat it like it’s a cop show. You two and I will go back to the station and then you can wait for your attorney there. I bet your parents would  _ love _ to get a call from me, eh?”

The prospect of her parents returning home from their concert to find our she’d been taken into police custody nearly loosened Kerry’s tongue, but Michael kept firm. 

“Fine,” he said with his own shrug. “We’ll go.”

Though Michael’s words were of cooperation, the police officer construed it as insolence and sneered in the young man’s direction.

“Get up. Both of you,” he barked. 

It was a good thing that they had invoked their Fifth Amendment rights, because Kerry’s heart was beating too fast for her to have been able to say anything anyways. Nevertheless, she and Michael again did as they were told and rose from the couch. 

They had both been expecting him to lead them out the door and into the police cruiser, but instead, he forcefully turned them around and slapped them with handcuffs. 

Another officer who had been consulting with the paramedics appeared at Michael’s side and began to lead him outside. The first officer put his hand on Kerry’s shoulder, urging her towards the door but she wouldn’t (well,  _ couldn't _ ) move. 

“Go.”

“I can’t.”

“‘You can’t’? And why not?”

“Because you handcuffed my hands behind my back. I need my crutch…my crutches,” she stated, her frustration rising as evidenced by the clenching of her jaw. “I can either walk or I can be handcuffed, but it can’t be both.”

The officer gave a cursory glance to where the pair of forearm crutches lay leaning against the arm of the couch and then back to Kerry. 

“Well, seeing as you stood up alright, I’d say you’re fine.”

He pushed her forward again, this time adding a slight nudge to the back of one of her legs to get her moving. 

She winced hard, but obeyed, figuring it wasn’t  _ too _ far to walk unassisted (save for the firm hand on her shoulder). But she forgot about the added weight of the fixator, so by the time they got down the stairs and she all but collapsed into the back seat of the cruiser, she was nearly tears at the pain. 

The door slammed shut next to her, giving her and Michael the first moment alone since the officer had arrived.

“Are you okay?” Michael whispered, all the while keeping a close eye on the officer, who had begun to shoo the crowd away.

“I… I don’t know,” Kerry grunted quietly. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. “All I know is that you’d better know what you’re doing.”

It took all of Michael’s might not to get up and pace around the interrogation room. Luckily, if the overwhelming fear that the action would be an admission of guilt wasn’t enough to keep him seated, he was further held in place (quite literally) by one Kerry Weaver, who was currently squeezing his hand so tightly under the table that it had started to go numb. 

They’d been sitting there for over an hour, just waiting for their parents to get home from the concert and get a call from the precinct. 

Though he knew the truth of what had happened and felt pretty sure that they really weren’t in any trouble and that all of this was just a big waste of time and taxpayer money, he couldn’t help but imagine it from the officer’s point-of-view. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he had a feeling he knew why they were considered suspicious.

A lonely old woman known for having memory problems with little to no connection to the outside world is found overdosing on mixed-up medication and the only two people around to see anything were two teenagers?

For all anyone else knew, they had been casing the house for months, taking stock of all the valuables and where she kept her money and had offed the poor woman in order to take everything she had. Or worse, they had purposely given her the wrong medicine in order to perform some kind of mercy killing.

Regardless how far either of these were from the truth, Michael couldn’t help but acknowledge how suspicious the two of them looked. 

He glanced over at Kerry. She hadn’t said a word since they had arrived, and he had the distinct feeling that it was not due to invoking her Miranda rights. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and she had a death grip on his hand, which he suspected was due to pain. 

After all, she  _ had _ walked out of Mrs. Lawson’s house and into the police station on what was effectively a broken leg. (And that wasn’t counting other pre-existing conditions.)

“ _ Kerry Elizabeth Weaver _ , when I said I wanted you to get out of the house and  _ do  _ something, I meant  _ legally _ .”

Both Kerry and Michael looked up to see Mildred Weaver, finger raised and eyes bugging with anger, storm into the interrogation room. She was closely followed by Martha Levin, who had her own greeting for her own son.

“MIchael Levin, you better have a  _ good  _ explanation for this or you will be  _ grounded _ until you  _ graduate. _ ”

The two mothers stopped in front of the table at which Kerry and Michael sat and slapped their hands down on it almost in unison. Henry and Michael Sr. filed in behind them, but hung back closer to the door. 

Henry raised a hand in greeting.

“Hi, kids. We’re mad too, but your mothers kind of stole all our thunder.”

Mildred turned on him.

“Henry Allen Weaver, this is  _ not _ the time to make jokes.”

Henry lowered his hand dejectedly.

“Yes, dear.”

The officer stepped into the room behind the two fathers and shut the door with a loud  _ BANG _ . The mothers both took a step back, but did not break murderous eye contact with their children.

“Alright,” he said, walking around the parents towards the two teenagers. “Your parents are here now. You gonna talk or not? Huh?”

He nudged Kerry with his elbow as he circled around them. She almost batted it away, but thought better of it. 

“What are they doing here?” Martha asked, stepping forward. “What are the charges?”

“No charges yet,” the officer replied, “but I have reasonable suspicion to believe that they were involved in the death of Edith Lawson.”

“Edith Lawson died?” Mildred asked, all anger dropped from her voice. 

“Earlier this evening. Presumed to be an accidental overdose,” the officer confirmed. “These two here told the paramedics that she had gotten her medicine confused and took the wrong one.”

“Oh, that poor woman,” Mildred said, shaking her head and putting a hand over her heart. 

“And you suspect that these two were involved?” Martha asked.

“I do,” the officer said, nodding. “It wraps it up in too tidy a bow, if you ask me. They just  _ happened _ to get there when she was overdosing. She just  _ happened  _ to die before the paramedics got there. I don’t see why they couldn’t have planned the whole thing.”

The combined pain in her leg and the unfounded accusation caused anger to flare in Kerry’s chest. 

How  _ dare _ he accuse them of something like that? How  _ dare  _ he? She was Mrs. Lawson’s friend. She took  _ care _ of Mrs. Lawson. How  _ dare _ he accuse her of wanting to hurt her?

“And what led you to bring them here?” Martha asked, taking her own turn to circle the table. 

“Well, I was asking them questions and this one wanted her parents-” He pointed at Kerry “- and this one said he wanted his attorney. Then, they both invoked their right to remain silent.”

Michael looked up at his mom, stopping her in her tracks.

“He said that we couldn’t leave,” he explained. “We both asked him and he said that we couldn’t leave until we answered his questions. And you said that that meant we were in police custody, so I didn’t want to say anything until I had a lawyer.”

Martha considered him closely for a moment and then gave him the same impressed looked Kerry had given him when he had invoked his rights earlier. 

“Well, I’ll be,” she said slowly. “You were listening to me after all.”

Michael nodded earnestly. Martha looked from him back to the officer.

“When you informed them that they couldn’t leave, did you read them their Miranda rights?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him even though she already knew the answer. 

The officer didn’t reply. 

“And when they invoked those rights,” Martha continued, “you brought them here for further questioning?”

“In handcuffs,” Kerry muttered.

Martha stopped her circling at the comment. She turned to Kerry. 

“You were brought here in handcuffs?”

Kerry nodded.

“Both of us,” Michael added. “And they wouldn’t let Kerry bring her crutches.”

“They  _ what?! _ ”

Everyone in the vicinity turned to look at Mildred, who had issued the exclamation at the same time she looked like she was going to lunge at the officer. Only Henry’s quick grab of her arm managed to hold her back.

“Millie…  _ Millie _ ,” he hissed, pulling her closer to him and wrapping a detaining arm around her. “We can only afford to have one of you in custody at a time. At least wait until Martha gets Kerry off.”

Mildred’s furor did not subside, but she did allow Martha to return to her work. 

“If these two were brought here in handcuffs, then that escalates things, doesn’t it?” she asked rhetorically. “Because the use of handcuffs moves your detainment into an arrest, so you’d better have the proof to move your ‘reasonable suspicion’ into ‘probable cause’ within the next five minutes or there’s no further reason for these two to be here.”

Martha and the officer stared each other down, unblinking, for a long moment before the officer sighed. 

“You two can go.”

There was a collective sigh of relief. The officer slipped out of the room as the families reunited and touched base.

Henry, sure that Mildred was not going to be the next one arrested (this time for Assaulting an Officer), he let go of her to provide support to the other one of his girls. But as Kerry slipped her arm around his shoulders and stood up, he noticed the paint on her legs.

“You already have prison tattoos?” he asked quietly, looking up at her in mock alarm. “How long have you two been here?”

As the Weaver and Levin families both had received news of their childs’ detainment at the same time, they had carpooled their way down to the police station. (After all, there was an oil crisis going on.)

Kerry and Michael spent the ride back home in the very back seats of the Levins’ wood-paneled station wagon. As soon as they pulled into the Weaver’s driveway, Michael shot out the door and across the street to Mrs. Lawson’s house. 

In his absence, the two pairs of parents bade each other good night, commenting on how strangely the night had ended. Then, Mildred and Henry went into the house as Michael Sr. and Martha backed out and then into their own driveway

Michael returned to find Kerry standing alone in the driveway. 

“Here,” he said, holding the pair of crutches out to her. “Sorry about earlier. You sure you’re okay?”

Kerry nodded and muttered a word of thanks as she threaded her arms through the cuffs. Most of the summer, she could not  _ wait _ until she could go back to using just one, but right now, the additional support was welcome. 

Even after Kerry was taken care of, they both just stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. 

The reality of Mrs. Lawson’s death had settled heavily on Kerry in their ride home, as had the inevitable guilt that came with it. 

“I’m glad you came to get me,” Kerry said quietly, looking up at him. 

“You’re welcome. For all the good it did thought, right?” he asked with a sigh. At her frown, he quickly added, “from me, from me. Not you.”

But Kerry just shook her head in agreement. 

“It’s not like I did much either.” She let out a sigh. “I keep thinking I should have just left well enough alone. I mean… I mean if it wasn’t for us- for  _ me _ … She’d never even have had those medicines.”

“Maybe not,” Michael said slowly. Then, he shrugged. “Or maybe she’d have died a long time ago from something else. It’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours either.”

But not even exchanging words of assurance didn’t do much to alleviate the guilt either of them felt. 

There was another moment of silence between them. Michael looked up at the night sky. 

The last of the red sunset was fading in the west. It left behind an inky blue speckled with white. A gorgeous night, to say the least. Perhaps if he hadn’t just been witness to a death and then illegally arrested, he may have been inclined to get out his telescope. 

“Well… I should probably get headed home,” he said quietly, looking from the sky back to Kerry. “But first… can I give you a hug?”

Kerry felt so mentally and physically exhausted she felt like she was going to fall over. But she nodded nonetheless.

Michael wrapped his arms around her and, though she’d be loathe to admit it, it felt very good. 

But the moment was soon interrupted by pain, which led Kerry to pull away. Michael released her and, in a spur-of-the-moment move they both would look back on in curiosity and puzzlement, once he had pulled back far enough, he kissed her squarely on the lips.

They remained like that for a moment, before they broke apart. 

They stared at each other for a moment, both unknowingly trying to figure out if they liked it or if it was just weird because neither of them had ever done it before. Michael seemed to come to first, as he then muttered a quick, “goodnight!” before taking off back across the street. 

Kerry watched him run for a moment. 

She should probably be upset with him, or at the very least have stronger opinions about it, but she didn’t, if only because she felt like she might drop-dead from exhaustion any second now (but also for reasons she did not quite understand yet). 

So, she turned towards the house and started the slower-than-usual process of climbing up the porch stairs. 

Once she was on the porch, Henry stepped outside, holding the screen door open for her. He rubbed a hand across his chin, pretending to eye her suspiciously. When he received the furrowed brow of confusion he sought, he raised his hands defensively.

“I didn’t see anything,” he said innocently. Then, he dropped his voice and leaned closer to her. “Though you could do far worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So, I was originally going to go straight from the last chapter into what is now going to be the _next_ chapter when it occurred to me exactly how suspicious the circumstances of the last chapter would have seemed from the outside world. And also how certain stubborn redheads who are also very smart may deal with officers of the law trying to get more information out of them that could get them in trouble. In other words, there was going to be some kind of police intervention and it made sense for them to both be considered suspicious while also _being_ suspicious. 
> 
> And, yes, there is a little kiss between Michael and Kerry at the end, but if it helps, they're teenagers who are both gay but won't realize it anytime soon. So, what's a little bit of awkward, innocent kissing between friends? (Also, if you've read "Unexpected Circumstances", I _did_ explicitly name Kerry's ex-husband in Chapter 26, so...)
> 
> That's all for now. Sorry if I've been posting less frequently, but I've been busy and also I've been drawing. I rotate back and forth between writing and drawing sometimes, so it's been nice to get back into it.
> 
> Until next time. 


	12. Turn! Turn! Turn!

The Byrds

“Turn! Turn! Turn! (To Everything There is A Season)”

_ Turn! Turn! Turn! _ (1965)

Columbia Records

* * *

Kerry shifted on the pew, pulling the hem of her black dress down in an effort to keep the back of her legs from sticking to the wooden seat. 

She, Michael, and Henry who accompanied them at least had the good fortune to be sitting near a fan. Sure, it made the pastor a bit hard to hear and made Kerry regret not pulling her hair back, but they were far more comfortable than the clergyman up at the pulpit, who looked so sweaty that the leather Bible he held threatened to slip out of his hands. 

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven,” the pastor read aloud. “A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted... A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

“A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.”

He looked up from the Bible to address the crowd in the pews in front of him.

“Some of you younger folks might know that verse from the song by The Byrds,” he said with a small chuckle. “Edith’s son Mitchell said she loved every time it came on the radio because Ecclesiastes 3 was one of her favorite verses.” 

He smiled down at the Lawson family sitting in the front most pew. Kerry followed his line of sight to the back of Mitchell Lawson’s head. 

Was it? Was it  _ really?  _ And if so, how did he know? Kerry wondered. It wasn’t like he or anyone else in the family bothered to check on her the last couple years. For all they knew, maybe she hated the verse.

The twinge of frustration that had been occasionally flaring up in between bouts of guilt prickled uncomfortably in Kerry’s chest. Michael seemed to sense this, as a moment later, she felt a very soft but nonetheless very present hand rub her back reassuringly. 

She glanced sideways at him out of the corner of her eye. 

He had on the same navy blue suit that he usually wore for band concerts, but this time with the addition of a yarmulke. Even though he was not Presbyterian like Mrs. Lawson apparently was, he knew there was most likely going to be prayers during the funeral and wanted to make sure his head was covered appropriately.

One of his arms rested on the back of the pew behind her, and more than once, he had gently touched her back or shoulder, almost as if he was reminding her that he was there. Henry, who was seated on Kerry’s other side, pretended not to notice this (so as long as Kerry seemed okay with it).

“And now, the family would like to say a few words in celebration of the life of Edith Lawson. Mitchell, if you will.”

Mitchell Lawson stood from his place on the front pew and adjusted his suit jacket. Everyone watched as he climbed the stairs to the pulpit, dabbing at his head with a (damp) handkerchief. 

He talked for several minutes about fond memories he had of his mother from his youth and how she had remained a steadfast rock in the death of his sister and later the death of his father too. 

Kerry couldn’t help but notice how little of his recollections nor those of Mitchell’s wife Helen or of Trish and her two brothers were from anything in the past few years. That frustration flared up again. 

Clearly, they cared very deeply for their mother/mother-in-law/grandmother. So, where had they been, huh? Why had they  _ stopped _ caring, huh? Her memory started slipping, so they just left her in the dust?

Part of Kerry knew that she shouldn’t feel angry. She was, after all, at a funeral. She should be just as empathetic to the family in their time of loss as she had been to Mrs. Lawson, regardless of whether or not they had treated Mrs. Lawson much like family as of late.

And yet, she couldn’t help but feel just a little bit more for the woman that was forgotten than for those who seemed to forget her.

If only because the one thing Mrs. Lawson  _ hadn’t  _ forgotten was them. 

The funeral concluded after the Lawsons said their part and the pastor and organist led the mourners in a somber rendition of “It Is Well With My Soul” (as if there was any  _ other _ rendition of that particular hymn). 

Henry, Michael, and Kerry had already decided amongst themselves that they were not going to attend the graveside service or the wake, so they lingered behind the exiting crowd for a moment. 

When most of the mourners had left, the three started their way towards the door. They had nearly reached it when Kerry felt a tap on her shoulder. Given that Michael was holding the door open in front of her, she paused and turned, only to find Trish Lawson, puffy-eyed and frowning, standing right behind her. 

Michael let go of the door and stepped to Kerry’s side protectively, but one look from Trish sent him backwards. Kerry almost reached over to pull him forward just to spite her, but instead, took a deep breath and consented to the conversation. 

“My dad said that the paramedics told him that you guys found her,” Trish said in a low voice. “And that you… took her dinner? A-and checked on her?”

Kerry, rarely one to be at a loss for words, was (nevertheless) at a loss for words. She had been expecting suspicion or questions surrounding the arrest-that-was-not-an-arrest that had taken place a few days before. 

She nodded. 

“For how long?”

“I’d… I’ve been going for about three years,” Kerry replied quietly. “And Michael’s been going since the beginning of the summer.”

Trish stared at her, not disbelieving, but definitely not entirely convinced either. 

“Why?”

“Why what?” Kerry asked, frowning. “Why did we take her dinner?”

“Yeah. Why?” Trish repeated, her brow furrowing deeper. 

Kerry paused, gathering her words. And, after a moment of silence in which she balanced respect at a funeral with her need to be honest (read: right), she sighed. 

“Because it didn’t seem like anyone else was.”

Trish continued to stare at her for a moment. When she inhaled deeply, Kerry braced herself for the inevitable burst of anger that may or may not include a snide comment at Kerry’s expense. But instead, she found herself standing there stunned as Trish wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace.

Kerry stood frozen, unsure of what to do. Her natural reaction would be to hug Trish back, but she 1) didn’t want to imply any sort of familiarity or forgiveness given the two girls’ shared history and 2) did not currently have any arms free to hug back with. 

So, instead, she just waited until Trish released her and hoped the look of surprised confusion on her face was enough to convey her, well, surprised confusion.

“I want you to know that-that I didn’t forget about her,” Trish said sincerely, tearing falling down her cheeks, “I promise I didn’t. It was just… It was really hard to see… She was my grandma and I really cared about her and loved her and everything. It was just really hard to… hard to…”

The rest of Trish’s words were lost as the girl broke down further. Kerry did not have the chance to process, let alone  _ ask _ , why Trish thought it was important to tell her that before one of Trish’s brothers appeared at her shoulder and whisked her away to join the family in the limousine. 

Kerry watched the two Lawson siblings disappear beyond the church door as Henry and Michael stood watching her. But after a long moment without so much as a twitch from the redhead, Michael took a tentative step forward and lightly tapped her shoulder. 

“You ready to go?” he asked slowly. 

Kerry said nothing for a moment. She stared at him, not really seeing him as she considered Trish’s words. But when Michael raised his eyebrows at her and she realized she’d been staring at him without really noticing him, she just nodded and turned to follow her and her father out the door. 

When they reached the concrete at the bottom of the stairs, to the chagrin of the two men, both young and old, it seemed that Kerry had returned to the same blank silence that she’d assumed all summer. Though her expression looked neutral, there was disquiet distance in her eyes. 

“Alright, kids,” Henry said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Ready to go home?”

Kerry didn’t respond. 

Henry expected this, however, so he automatically turned to look at Michael. But Michael seemed just as focused on Kerry as Kerry seemed focused on nothing. 

“Michael? Kerry? Anyone?”

The use of their names made both teenagers look up. 

“What?” Kerry asked, her brow furrowing as she wondered what she had missed.

“Are you ready to go?” Henry asked. 

“Go where?”

“Home, dear,” Henry said. His brow too furrowed. “Everything alright, hon?”

Kerry nodded quickly. 

“Actually, I was wondering if maybe Kerry and I could go have lunch,” Michael said aloud. Then, realizing he had said that out loud, he looked suddenly at Henry. “If that’s okay with you, sir.”

Henry shrugged and nodded towards Kerry.

“That’s up to her.”

Michael and Henry both looked at Kerry for a reaction, possibly even a scowl, but all they got in reply was a tired shrug. 

Still, it  _ was _ an answer, so the three of them started for Henry’s 1973 Chevy Impala.

Kerry silently slid into the backseat, which allowed Michael the front seat. Michael muttered something about the pizza shop around the corner from their houses and Henry obliged by shifting into reverse. Within minutes, they had pulled into the parking lot of the small brick pizza place. 

Kerry opened the door and slid out just as silently as she had slid in, but when Michael put his hand on the door to follow, Henry put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“It’s not a date, sir,” Michael blurted out, before his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “But even if it was, I promise I would take really good care of her, sir.”

“Oh, son, I don’t doubt that for a second,” Henry said, chuckling as he waved Michael away. “And I also don’t doubt that if you  _ did _ do something she didn’t like, my daughter would take pretty good care of you too. She’s certainly done it before.” 

At the sight of Michael’s wide-eyed fear, Henry chuckled again and patted his arm.

“But that’s not what this is about. I was just going to say that she gets a little grumpier when she’s hungry, so I wanted to give you a few extra dollars just in case.”

And, to back up this statement, Henry pulled out his wallet and offered Michael a ten-dollar bill. Michael took it, hesitant at first, but then with more confidence as Henry smiled at him. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, son.” But before Michael could resume exiting the car, Henry raised an eyebrow at him. “But I’m not kidding. She would take  _ good  _ care of you. And, trust me, she wouldn’t be the only one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split this chapter into two (or maybe three?), so I apologize if some of it feels like filler. We're getting close to the end of this little novella here, but I want to make sure it's done right, so I'm not finalizing the chapter count _quite_ yet. 
> 
> This is the first and only chapter where the chapter title actually has something to do with the chapter content. Just so we're clear. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for hanging around. Until next time.


	13. Stairway to Heaven

Led Zeppelin

“Stairway to Heaven”

_ Led Zeppelin IV _(1971)

Atlantic Records

* * *

Michael and Kerry were the only ones in the restaurant, save for a young man, not much older than them, who stood wiping out glasses at the counter. And, given the fact that he didn’t disappear into the kitchen when he took their order of a small pepperoni pizza and two Cokes, they figured there must have been someone in the back too. 

“I’m glad you came with me,” Michael said, trying to break the silence. “I figured it would be a good change of pace after the funeral. You know… Something a bit different?”

Kerry didn’t answer. 

The cotton tank top she wore under her dress was starting to get very sweaty in the heat. She had worn it and a pair of short athletic shorts under the dress partly for propriety’s sake and partly because the dress was her mother’s and therefore a bit big for her. Without the fan they’d been sitting next to at the funeral, she felt very sticky indeed. 

“Have you finished your summer homework yet?” Michael asked, hoping that changing the subject might spur conversation.

Kerry still didn’t say anything, but she did at least shake her head. 

“I did. But mostly only because I leave for band camp on Monday and we get back only a couple days before school starts. I though that if I finished it early, then I wouldn’t need to worry about it when I got back,” Michael explained. Then, his face lit up, a bit of pride creeping into his smile. “I think I get to be a squad leader this year, which will be awesome because that means that I get to choose my own squad and Rich Palmer will _ not _ be in it. He’s never ever in tune. It’s like… if an alto saxophone is supposed to be tuned to E♭, he’s always tuned to an F. I don’t understand it.”

Kerry nodded absently as she picked at her piece of pizza.

“I think the flute squad leaders are going to be Danielle Hatterly and Marcie Goodwin,” Michael continued, determined to keep the conversation going even if Kerry wouldn’t. “Danielle will probably be section leader since she’s the senior who sits the highest in band, but if you… I mean if you were in… I just mean that it would be you. Since you’ve been first chair since freshman year. Even though you’d be a junior, you’ve sat the highest chair for the longest.”

Kerry continued to ignore him. Michael frowned.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I wish people would stop asking me that,” Kerry hissed. “_ Yes. _ I’m fine.”

“You haven’t eaten ve-”

“I’m not hungry.”

Thinking of Henry’s words from earlier in the car, Michael took her tone as truth over her words and pushed the pizza a little closer to her. Unfortunately, she noticed this and shot him a look of frustration so strong, it was a wonder he didn’t recoil more than he did.

The waiter returned to their table, wiping his hands on the same rag he’d been using to dry the glasses. 

“Everything taste okay?” he asked, looking between the two. He pointed at the half-finished pizza on the table. “Need a box?”

Michael nodded. But as the waiter went to turn away, he was struck with a thought and shot out a hand to stop him. 

“Yeah, if we could get a box, that’d be great,” Michael said, before dropping his voice. “And, uh, if you could get us… _ something else _ too.”

Kerry glanced up from the table to observe this odd exchange. She looked up just in time to see the waiter glance around surreptitiously before leaning closer to Michael.

“You better have a real good fake on ya, man,” he whispered, “because my dad’s working the back today.”

“No, not that,” Michael replied, shaking his head and dropping his voice even lower. “The _ other _ stuff.”

Kerry looked between Michael and the waiter. Though she wasn’t sure what Michael meant, the young man did as he sighed. 

“Ten bucks.”

“Five.”

“_ Ten _,” the waiter stated firmly.

“_ Five _,” Michael pressed. 

“Look, man, you want it or not?”

“I want the same amount as last time. And last time, it was only five.”

“Yeah, but this time there’s two of you. Price just went up.” He shrugged. “But, hey, if you can’t afford it.”

The waiter shrugged again and made to turn away. But at the put-out look on Michael’s face, Kerry found her arm shooting out to grab the waiter’s arm. 

“Give whatever it is to him for five dollars or I will impale you on my crutch.”

Fear flickered in the waiter’s eyes for a very brief moment before he straightened up and nodded sincerely.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in a defensive-yet-impressed tone. “Let me, uh, get your guys’ box.”

He nodded again before scurrying away from the table before Kerry could make good on her threat. But as soon as he was gone, Kerry re-crossed her arms. 

“Thanks,” Michael said, pulling out his wallet. 

“Don’t mention it,” Kerry muttered. “So long as you didn’t just incriminate me into helping you buy drugs or anything.”

At Michael’s silence, she looked at him and found a sheepish smile on his face. 

_ “Michael!” _ she hissed. “We just got arrested for something we didn’t do. I’m not going to let you get us arrested for something we _ did _.”

“Relax, we’re not going to get arrested,” he reassured her. “It’s just a little bit of weed. No big deal.”

“It is to _ me _.”

“Well, you don’t have to smoke it if you don’t want to,” Michael said, raising his hands defensively. “But I will.”

She continued to scowl at him for the entire five minutes it took for the waiter to return with the box. 

Michael paid for the pizza before he pulled out a separate a five-dollar bill that he then palmed to the waiter. Once the waiter had palmed a small baggy back to him, he excused himself to the bathroom to put it in his sock without drawing attention.

Once Michael was out of earshot, Kerry leaned forward towards the waiter, who had begun to put their pizza in the box. 

“You sell that stuff while you’re working?” 

The waiter nodded slightly and shrugged. 

“It’s good for business.”

Michael opened the door to his house and led Kerry inside. He raised a hand down the hallway towards his bedroom.

“If you want to change,” he offered. “There’s also the bathroom too if you want.”

For a teenage boy’s room, it was pretty clean. Not that she had been in many (well, _ any _) boys’ bedrooms, but she figured that they must be an extension of their owners. Or, in other words, smelly, gross, and prone to making jokes about her when they knew she was in earshot.

(Alright… their bedrooms probably didn’t do the last part.)

Closing the door, she skinned off her dress as fast as possible. Though the Levins’ house did not have air conditioning, just being free of the dress was enough for her to sigh in relief at the “cool” air in the room. 

She switched places with Michael for a moment, giving him the chance to change too. It didn’t take long before the bedroom door opened and Kerry stepped back inside, only to frown when she didn’t immediately see Michael.

“Where did you go?” 

“I’m down here,” a muffled voice replied. 

She peered around the bed to find Michael’s hairy legs sticking out from underneath the bed. But just as she did so, Michael shuffled his way back out, a Nike shoe box in his hands. 

Kerry sat down on his bed and began taking off her shoes. Michael sat down next to her, sitting back against the wall and placing the shoebox on his lap. 

“You do this enough that you have _ supplies? _” Kerry wondered aloud, glancing at him sideways out of the corner of her eye as she too sat back against the wall and kicked her feet up on the bed. 

“It’s not like I do it _ every _ day. Maybe once a month at most,” Michael said a tad bit defensively. “And I told you. You don’t have to do it.”

“I didn’t say I was,” Kerry replied. “I was just… commenting.”

But even with her comments and seeming frustration, Michael couldn’t help but notice how she watched him grind the marijuana with close curiosity.

“You were really quiet at lunch,” he commented as he poured the now-ground leaf into a rolling paper and began twisting it into a joint. “What did Trish say to you?”

At Trish’s name, Kerry tensed. Michael looked at her, one eyebrow raised, as he licked the paper to make it stick. 

“She said…” Kerry let out a deep sigh and crossed her arms. “She said she wanted me to know that she never forgot about her grandma. It was just… ‘too hard’ to see her. And I… I just...”

Kerry huffed indignantly. Michael finished rolling the joint and pulled a lighter out of the shoebox.

“I just…” Kerry said, trying again to get her thoughts straight. “I don’t know how she does it.”

“Does what?” Michael said before raising the now-lit joint to his lips and inhaling deeply.

“I don’t get how you could care about something or- or_ someone _ and not do anything about it,” Kerry said, her brow furrowing. “It’s just… Does that even _ count _ as caring? If you just… Just watch from afar and not try and, you know… do anything about it.”

Kerry turned slightly to better face him just in time for him to exhale. This resulted in both of them coughing and waving the smoke out of their faces. 

“Sorry,” Michael said, covering his mouth as he continued to cough. “But what do you mean?”

“I mean caring… Caring is supposed to be a _ verb _ . It’s an _ action _ . You don’t just… sit on it. You’re supposed to go out and do something about it,” Kerry explained. “And I just have such a… I just don’t get how you could _ claim _ to care about your grandma like that and never visit her! Even if… Even if she didn’t know. Even if she didn’t know how bad it was, she was still her _ family _. You can’t… you just claim to care about your family and then not, well, care about your family.”

Michael nodded in consideration. He held out the joint. 

Kerry looked at it and then at him.

“I don’t want that.”

“It’ll relax you. It’s just like smoking a cigarette, but better,” he said, holding it out a bit further. At the look on Kerry’s face, he frowned. “You _ have _ smoked before, right?”

_ “No,” _ Kerry replied quickly. Then, she rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. I’ve taken a couple cigarettes out of my mom’s purse before. But you _ can’t _ tell her that, okay?”

“Hey, you don’t tell my mom and I won’t tell yours.”

Even with this reassurance, Kerry still hesitated for a moment before taking the offered joint from Michael.

She sat back against the wall and lifted it to her lips, inhaling deeply. 

Almost immediately, Kerry began to feel very lightheaded. She tried to hold it in for a few seconds like she’d seen Michael do, but she didn’t make it very long before she exhaled, spluttering. 

“Ugh, that’s _ disgusting _,” she said, handing the joint back out to Michael.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of an acquired taste,” Michael admitted. 

“Well, I don’t think I want to acquire it.”

Coughing a few more times, Kerry sat back against the wall once more and sighed. 

“Didn’t you say it hurt?” Michael said before taking another hit. 

“Didn’t I say what hurt?”

He held up a finger for a second before exhaling. 

“Trish,” he said. “Maybe she really _ did _ care about her grandma, but it just hurt too much to do anything about.”

“It hurt _ me _ to go over. And it hurt _ you _,” Kerry shot back,” but we still did.”

“Yeah, but we’re not her grandkids.”

At his (correct) point, Kerry rolled her eyes. 

He offered her the joint again and she, against what she was sure was her better judgement, took it from him. 

Once she herself had taken another hit and exhaled (this time _ without _ nearly asphyxiating), she shook her head. 

“Caring does hurt,” she stated simply. “It hurts but you still do it.”

“Your dad said something like that,” Michael commented. “He said that caring hurts because it means that it’s never just your own problems in your head. Or something like that.”

She nodded, her head feeling heavier than usual. Michael went to take the joint from her, but she pulled it just out of his reach. 

“What?”

“I’m not done with it yet,” Kerry replied, raising it back to her lips as if to prove her point.

“I thought you didn’t want to do it,” Michael said, chuckling in a sort of dazed way before he picked the box back up and rolling another joint. 

Kerry did not reply as she was too busy holding her breath to let the tetrahydrocannabinol do its work.

When she finally released it, she carefully slid down further in the bed until she was flat on her back. Once Michael had finished rolling the second joint, he followed suit, careful to leave plenty of room between them both so he didn’t accidentally bump the fixator but also for propriety’s sake. 

“I wish it could not hurt,” Kerry found herself saying out loud. “I wish I could care about things without it hurting. Or… Or I wish that I could just _ not _ care about things. That’s it. That’s _ really _what I want. I want to just not care about things.”

“What do you want to not care about?”

“People. Things. People… saying things.”

“All people? All things? Or just some people and some things?”

Kerry shrugged, which was a very odd thing to do while lying horizontally and also having altered physical control of your shoulders because of drug-induced intoxication.

“Some people and some things.”

“That’s good,” Michael remarked. “Because… because if you just wanted to stop caring about _ everything _, that would just not be good. Because if you could care about things and just decided not to… what kind of person would you be?”

Happier, Kerry thought. 

“What do you mean ‘happier’?”

Kerry turned her head to look at Michael, suddenly fearful that Michael’s high had given him the ability to read her mind. But then, the rational voice that was muffled (but not completely silenced) by the marijuana told her she’d voiced the thought aloud and he had heard her.

“Are you not happy now?” Michael asked as though he hadn’t spent the entire summer (or the past four years) on the receiving end of glowers and scowls. 

Kerry sighed deeply. Then, she shook her head slowly, rolling it back and forth against Michael’s bedspread.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Kerry replied defensively. “I just… I want to stop caring about things. I don’t want to worry about things. Things… make me not happy.”

“What if you cared about something else?”

Kerry looked back at Michael and frowned. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like… If you have to care about things, what if you chose to care about certain things and not other things?” Michael wondered aloud. “Like, every time you worried about one thing, you could choose to think about something else. Like when you care about this one thing that hurts to think about, maybe you could instead choose to care about ending world hunger or-or-or… ending world hunger.”

“You said that twice,” Kerry said, chuckling against her will. “Michael, how high _ are _ you?”

Michael didn’t say anything, but he too started giggling. Before long, both of them were laughing loudly at basically nothing thanks to their weed-induced haze. 

“But I mean it,” Michael said as their laughter died down. “You care about a lot of stuff, right? Maybe just focus on caring about certain things and then you’ll be happier.”

“Like ending world hunger?”

“Sure. Or like studying or playing the flute or something.”

“But I already do those things a lot,” Kerry pointed out. “So… don’t I already care about them?”

“I guess. So... maybe you can find something new. Or just… think about the things you do differently. I don’t know. I just don’t want you not to be happy,” Michael let out a sigh. “ And I think there are ways to not care about things while still caring about the things that matter. And the people you want to not care about? I would think that they don’t matter, because you care a lot about things that matter. So if you don’t want to care about them, then they probably don’t matter much anyways.”

Kerry stared at the ceiling of Michael’s bedroom.

She hadn’t taken a hit of the marijuana in probably ten minutes, and she could already feel her thoughts clearing as it started to wear off. Or were her thoughts clearing for another reason? 

She considered those things that she would prefer not to care about - what the kids at school thought about her, who her birth parents were, why they had given her up.

Did any of those things matter? 

Did the kids at school matter? The only classmates she really tolerated were those who were nice to her and that she got along with. The other ones were mean, sometimes in reaction to things she had said or done, but mostly just to be mean. 

Did her birth parents matter? She hesitated to say that they weren’t, but the truth was that she already had a family. Whoever those people were, no matter how much she might look like them or share the same genes as them, she already had a set of parents who would move earth and sky for her. And she would do the same for them. 

But as easy as it was to consider that her birth parents didn’t matter because she had a family who loved and was loved by her, it wasn’t quite as easy to say that wondering why they gave her up didn’t matter. 

She knew then, and would grow to learn more and more as she got older, all the reasons why parents might choose to give their child up for adoption. But even having a list of perfectly rational reasons as to why it could have happened, the glaring, obvious reason always stood out amongst the others. 

And yet, even as sensitive about her disability as she was, even given the pain she went through this summer and almost daily otherwise, even knowing all the accessibility factors she thought about constantly that no one else ever had to pay attention to… Did it change the fact that she had parents who loved her? Did it change the fact that she was smart or did well in school? Did it change the fact that she still had people and things and passions that she cared about that drove her actions every day?

Whether the reason why she had been given up for adoption mattered or not (and whether the reason she believed to be true was correct or not), even then, Kerry knew that the other things she cared about mattered a lot more and, even if it could not take away all her guilt, it was more than enough to focus her energy on. 

Kerry considered this all as she lay there on Michael Levin’s bed, staring up at the ceiling as her marijuana-induced high wore off. Had she wanted to, she could have re-lit the joint and continued on, but she didn’t feel she needed to. 

Of course, once it _ fully _ wore off, she would realize that this wasn’t the end of all her thoughts and questions and caring about everything, whether or not she believed it truly mattered. 

But even if it wasn’t the end, it might just be the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I _really_ hope the last part makes sense, because I wrote and re-wrote this chapter several different ways and I just really hope it makes sense (and I'm not talking about whether or not Kerry Weaver would smoke weed because 1) she's a teenager and 2) it's the 70s and therefore basically required). 
> 
> I've had this story tagged as "coming of age" from the beginning, but I think this chapter is kind of the one that seals that. Though she still has a long way to go with coming to terms with herself and figuring out what matters (regardless of whether we're speaking canon or AU), I see this as where it begins. She starts to fine tune what matters to her and uses her care as a verb, turning what matters to her into passion and what she is passionate about into skill and drive.
> 
> And though this is the last chapter and I'm not going to carry on about her high school experience further, because I am me, I _do_ know what happens next. As I said, this is the beginning of her figuring herself out, and to me, that means she starts to come out of her shell more. She begins to chill out (at least a little bit) and begins making friends and, when winter comes, even has the courage to join the swim team and _maybe_ even go out on a few official dates with Michael (though, in my head/timeline, they don't begin dating for real until they're in college). 
> 
> I hope this didn't seem like it ended too suddenly. I'll be honest, after writing "Unexpected Circumstances" over the course of four months, the fact that this is done is really jarring to me. And in my head, I keep calling it "short" even though I know it's still clocking in at over 30,000 words. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you all for reading. I hope you've enjoyed my foray into Kerry Weaver's past and I hope that I have done well by her character while exploring familiar parts of her in unfamiliar scenaros and with unfamiliar people. I loe you all. Thank you all so much for reading!


End file.
